


We Found Love (In a Hopeless Place)

by zukkababey



Series: we found love ‘verse [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23834953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukkababey/pseuds/zukkababey
Summary: It's weird that it's not weird.Thomas and Minho continue running through the Maze as they always do, joking and chasing one another down long corridors, only now kisses are given as rewards when the other catches up instead of smart-aleck remarks.It's easier like this. It's safe, comfortable, and Thomas is no longer heavy with the weight of finding the way out of the Maze. Minho shares the weight of it with him, and together they make it through each day.Days pass, months pass, and no exit is found. But it's simpler when they're together.Thomas is okay with that, as long as Minho is by his side.-Or, the one where Thomas is sent up in the Box in the very beginning, and things develop slightly different because of it.
Relationships: Alby/Newt (Maze Runner), Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: we found love ‘verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751689
Comments: 28
Kudos: 162





	We Found Love (In a Hopeless Place)

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I would like to make it clear that I have not read The Kill Order, so this does not take into account any information that James Dashner bestowed upon us in that prequel. Sorry about that. 
> 
> Also, I took most of my inspiration for this from the book, but it should still be easy to read and understand if you've only watched the movie. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Thomas wakes up when someone steps on his hand, _hard_. He blinks his eyes open to inky darkness, can hear the murmur of voices, the dull whir of machinery. There's a sharp object digging into his lower back painfully, and he can feel the hard lines of a grid along his side where he's laying down.

"What the-?"

"What's going on?"

"Who's there?"

Panicked, confused voices ring out, and Thomas' head hurts. Where is he? And why can he not remember anything? He can only picture his name, anything past that is a blur and haze of nothingness. He knows what the world is, and how it works, so why is he in here and not out there?

Thomas makes his way to stand up, bumping into legs and bodies as he does so. It's dark, and he can barely make out the faces of the other boys that surround him. It doesn't stop him from scanning the small box. There's crates in the corner, labelled with something too dark to read, and the rest of the space is cramped with frightened boys. Thomas guesses they're in their teens, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. He wonders how old he is, how old he looks. _Why_ doesn't he know this?

With a sharp, slicing voice, someone calls out, "Everyone shut up!"

Surprisingly, the boys turn towards the sound, and the increasing noise levels drop to silence.

The boy who made the command looks older, seventeen, or maybe even eighteen. He seems faintly shocked, as if he didn't think the boys would actually listen to him. Thomas can see him swallow and put his shoulders back, looking more confident than he probably feels. His eyes flick over all the boys and he takes a deep breath.

"Does anybody know what is going on?" he says.

The boys erupt in a flurry of noise and movement. People are yelling over one another, trying to be heard. One boy pummels one of the walls, and he sounds like he might be crying.

Over the commotion, Thomas shouts, "Why don't I remember anything?"

Silence is all that remains.

"You don't remember anything either?" another boy asks him. He looks much younger than any of the other boys, short and stocky. He's maybe twelve.

"Just my name," Thomas replies.

Murmurs of agreement float through the box and the first boy who spoke raises his voice once again. "Nobody remembers anything?"

He sounds desperate, almost pleading someone to give him a proper answer of what's going on.

A chorus of no's and solemn shakes of heads pass through the boys, and the first boy deflates. He sits against the crates, elbows propped up on his knees and his head in his hands. It doesn't make him look weak for some reason, just frustrated. He sighs explosively and sits back, leaning against the wall.

"Well, come on then. Join the party," he says sarcastically, gesturing to his position and inviting the other boys to do the same. Once everyone seems to get over themselves and join him, the boy says, "I'm George. Who's next?"

~||~

"How long do you think we've been in this thing?"

It's Nick that speaks, whose name Thomas learned shortly after he had shared his own. It’s odd that all of these boys - there has to be at least twenty-five of them in here - have no recollection of their past, but all know their own names. There has to be something to explain the gaps in their memory, and Thomas is willing to bet the answer is waiting for them at the end of their vertical journey.

All of the boys are sitting now, in as much of a circle they can make with so many people and not enough space. The younger boy who had spoken to Thomas earlier - Chuck, his name was - sat next to him, almost behind him, as if Thomas can protect him. For some inexplicable reason, Thomas feels affection for the boy, even though they’ve exchanged only a few words at most.

Most boys have fallen silent, the mood growing dark and full of despair. That doesn't stop Minho, a boy with Asian features and thick dark hair, to respond to Nick's question. He raises his wrist to inspect it, as if he has a watch on it. "I say it's been about twenty-four minutes and thirty-nine seconds, what do you think, Nicky?"

Thomas has gotten used to the dim lighting by now, and can see the scowl Nick sends in Minho's direction. He's not sure if it's directed more towards the sarcasm or the nickname.

Another boy, Jared, turns to Minho and says, "Hey, cool it. We're all in the same boat here, no need to be rude."

"Cool it?" Minho says, standing abruptly. " _Cool it_? No way am I going to _cool it,_ dude. I'm in a death trap and I have no idea what the hell is going on and _I want to get out_." He kicks at the wall, and he's close to rambling, his outburst barely even directed at Jared anymore. He turns back to boys and seems to belatedly realize that he's probably not helping. With a grumble, he drops back into his spot, meeting everyone's gaze as if daring them to mention it.

"It's probably been about half an hour," Thomas says to Nick, because he might not know much, but he does know that making enemies is probably not a wise move.

"Where in the hell are we going?" Minho grumbles, but then startles as the box stops abruptly. "It wasn't me," he says automatically.

George is the first on his feet, Minho and Thomas a close second, and a few other boys follow suit. They're all feeling around for a hidden latch or button or _anything_ when light is suddenly thrown into their faces. Thomas backs away, throwing an arm over his face to shield his eyes. When he thinks he can stand it, he takes away his arm and blinks into the light, seeing a clear blue sky, free of any clouds. They're a good few feet below the ground, and of course it couldn't be easy, right?

The other boys are already stacking the crates, telling the others to bring them more from the other side. Thomas ends up standing next to Minho, who has his arms crossed over his chest with his eyes on the sky. Minho turns to Thomas slightly, so Thomas knows that Minho is talking to him.

"This is so screwed up," Minho says.

"Yeah," agrees Thomas. "We've got to get out of here." At Minho's questioning look, he adds, "Something just isn't right. I don't think we're supposed to be here."

Minho nods, looking like he understands. "Let's start by getting out of this stupid box."

Thomas watches him turn away to go help with the crates, and can't help but feel a strange affinity towards the boy. He notices the strength in the way he moves, his broad shoulders and toned biceps. He looks away, and starts to help.

~||~

It takes them a while to finally hoist all of the boys out of the box. (There are twenty-eight boys in total, and they all look the worse for wear.)

They're greeted by a lush green landscape with scattered trees. In one area there's a more dense patch of trees, but it's devoid of pretty much anything comfortable. There's a barn to one side, easily defined by the farm animals Thomas can see roaming around it, as well as a garden patch.

One thing that cannot be ignored however, are the massive stone walls that trap them in this green square. On each side is an opening in the middle, one side of the opening lined with spikes, the opposite side with corresponding holes. Thomas has so many questions that he can barely think, but he knows that voicing them won't make anything better, so he stays quiet.

"What the shuck are those?" one boy cries. He's obviously talking about the walls, and no one has an answer for him.

Thomas takes a breath to say something, but is cut short by a yell, and he immediately turns towards the sound. It's another boy, Harvey, a kid with blonde hair and blue eyes who is eyeing the _ground_ of all things with distrust.

"What happened?" George says, walking over.

"There was a... a thing. A bug."

George's concerned look vanishes, leaving exasperation in its place. "You're scared of a little bug? Looks like you might have to get used to it, we might be here for a while." He looks around the green space for a bit before turning back to Harvey, who still looks nervous.

"No, no," Harvey protests. "It was big. With red eyes. It stared right at me! Really-"

"This over here?" Chuck points at a shiny lump in the grass. "It looks like a huge beetle." He reaches to grab it, only to yelp in pain and stumble backwards, falling on his back. "Freakin' ouch!" Chuck holds up his fingers, which are now riddled with fine red cuts, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to draw blood. "What the-? It cut me!"

"Okay guys, don't touch it," George says, patting Harvey on the shoulder with an apologetic expression. Thomas thinks it's the smartest thing he's said all day.

~||~

George is chosen leader, with Nick as his second-in-command. Thomas isn't exactly sure how this came about, but he's not particularly upset that he doesn't have to be a voice of reason in this mess.

Slats of wood are found stacked in what all the boys have dubbed the Box, and George, Nick, and most of the boys agree to start making a fort, somewhere with shelter that isn't teeming with animals.

At sundown, a loud grinding noise stops all of the boys in their tracks. Thomas watches in utter disbelief as the thick stone openings actually begin to _move_. It starts at one opening, and then as one fully shuts, the next one starts closing. Thomas looks down at Chuck, who's never too far away, but Chuck is too busy gaping at the walls to look back. Thomas shakes his head. This can't be physically possible. For some reason, he looks towards Minho, finding Minho looking back at him with a similar expression of disbelief.

He watches Minho for a little while longer after Minho turns back to watch the walls slide shut. Thomas should be watching the impossibly massive walls move, but he's caught off guard once again at his familiarity. He also can’t help but notice how attractive he is. His cheekbones, the slope of his nose, and the peek of collarbones that Thomas can see just above the neckline of his shirt shouldn't be so hot and should be freakin' illegal.

Thomas' thoughts are broken as one boy breaks away from the builders and goes straight to George, shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps. "Why didn't we just run through there? Huh?" The boy shoves George again. "What if that was a way out and we just missed our freakin' opportunity because you had us building buggin' _forts_." He spits out the last word like it's dirty.

Thomas understands where the boy is coming from. A certain sense of dread had come over him when he saw that their only way out of this place was closing, but it's not like George had anything to do with it. None of them knew those massive stone walls were going to freakin' _move_.

"It's not my fault!" George says. "You think I'm happy being locked in here? I'm just trying to make the best of it!" George goes to shove at the boy, but Nick comes between them before anything can happen. Harvey comes to grab the other boy and shove him back when he starts to claw at Nick.

George huffs and walks back over to start building again, and most of the boys hustle to get back to work.

Thomas ends up wedged between Chuck and some other kid he can't be bothered to remember the name of when it comes time to sleep. All the boys are hungry and cold and sad, but they lay silent underneath the stars, and hope that maybe they'll wake up tomorrow morning and it will all be a dream.

~||~

Once the boys find out that the stone walls surrounding them open back up in the morning, the overwhelming sense of being trapped dissipates somewhat. If this is a recurring theme, and the doors close every night and open every morning, Thomas figures that finding a way out shouldn't be too hard.

~||~

No one goes through the doors for the first week.

This is due to Nick adamantly saying that they should wait to see if the doors opening and closing happened every night, and they should mark down what time it opened and closed. Turns out, doors open at sunrise and close at sunset, and have for the whole week. Thomas is itching to go and explore, the monotonous landscape of what had been quickly named the Glade is starting to get old.

Supplies had arrived in the Box exactly one week after they had arrived in the Glade, and it had enough wood and tools to finish most of what the builders were jokingly calling the Homestead.

Along with the wood and tools, there were seeds for plants and weird vials of liquid, which upon closer inspection, were needles. What they were needed for was unbeknownst to the boys. There were also notepads and pencils, and a crate full of sharp, pointy weapons.

The boys looked at each other uneasily when that crate was unboxed, and George and Nick kept it somewhere safe, away from prying eyes.

The crates and most of the items in the crates were labelled with one word that the boys refused to acknowledge. WICKED.

Thomas thinks it has something to do with the sadistic people who sent them here, but that's neither here nor there.

So. No one has gone through the doors. And Thomas really, really wants to. He feels that's the way out, that he can fix this. He wants to go home.

~||~

Jared is the first kid to find the window that's embedded in the wall, but Nick is the first one to see a Griever.

Thomas isn't sure how he spots it this late at night, but when he does, he makes sure everyone else does too.

When Thomas first sees it, his first urge is to throw up, but he suspects that Chuck, who is standing in front of him and also peeking into the window, would not appreciate that.

The creature is absolutely disgusting, big and bulbous and repulsive. In the dim light, it almost looks like it's oozing. Chuck almost screams when they see it sprout two sharp pointy legs, poking and prodding at its surroundings. Eventually, it retracts the spikes back into its fleshy body and rolls out of view.

It gets the name Griever pretty darn fast, and the crate of weapons hidden at the Homestead suddenly makes a lot more sense.

~||~

"I want to go past the walls," Thomas says.

The boys are having a Gathering in the Homestead, and as soon as Thomas speaks they look at him like he's crazy. Which he _isn't_ , but shouldn't they be more excited? Someone is willing to go into that hell hole even after spotting a Griever on more than one occasion since the first. Nobody has seen one in the daytime, however, and Thomas is banking on that hope. Also, it's the only way out. What are they going to do? Dig to safety?

"You want to do what, shuckface?" George asks incredulously.

The slang of the Glade is becoming more apparent with each and every day, random snippets and phrases used by each of the boys that have somehow caught on. More and more of the boys are using them, but Thomas still isn't used to it.

"I want to go past the doors. Just to check it out," Thomas says. He doesn't add how much he's itching to get away from The Glade, how risking his life to find a way out of this place would be better than watching Zart plant seeds for the rest of his life.

Minho catches Thomas' eye, something that he's really good at doing, considering they haven't spoken much. The only person Thomas really could consider a friend here is Chuck, and that's basically because Chuck hasn't left his side since they all climbed out of the freakin' Box.

Minho nods at Thomas and speaks up to the group of boys. "Me too. We can't live in fear of those things-"

"The Grievers," one boy pipes up.

Minho sighs exasperatedly. "Yeah, the Grievers. We have to get out of this place. The way out could literally be right on the other side of those doors. If we have to fight through those things, then so be it."

Thomas is surprised that someone agrees with him, but a little less surprised that it's Minho. He still remembers their short exchange when they were still in the Box, their mutual agreement to get out of this place.

A small smile tugs on the side of Thomas’ lips, one of thanks and solidarity. Minho returns it.

He's infinitely grateful that he's not the only one who feels the need to escape. He just needs to get some other people on his side too.

~||~

Two weeks later, Thomas stands at the Door, waiting for it to open for the day. Minho stands at his side, hopping on the balls of his feet and shaking out his arms.

"You ready?" he asks Thomas.

Thomas looks at Minho, at his stupidly attractive face, and then back to the Door. This is the day. They have been at the Glade for three weeks, and Thomas and Minho have only just convinced George and Nick that this is a good idea.

Jared and two other boys stand at the other entrances, weapons in hand, just in case. The five boys had been given strict orders to explore and if an exit were to be found, then they were to report straight back to the Homestead.

Thomas looks back up at Minho and grins. "I was born ready."

Minho rolls his eyes and pushes him away, saying, "Terrible, Thomas. Terrible."

When the doors grind open, the two boys carefully walk through, knives at the ready. When no Grievers immediately attack, Thomas starts to run, Minho following.

And then it sinks in.

~||~

"It's a maze, George. It's a buggin' maze."

~||~

And the next day they run through the Doors:

"The walls shuckin' moved, I swear! They freakin' moved!"

~||~

On the third day of running the Maze, as Minho slices off the ivy to leave a trail, something shiny catches his eye. He does a double-take, slowing down and retreating to the patch of ivy growing over the stone wall.

“What is it?” Thomas asks, edging up behind Minho.

Minho just pushes the curtain of ivy to the side, revealing the stamped metal sheet screwed into the stone wall. It reads: WORLD IN CATASTROPHE - KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT.

“Those are nice words,” Minho observes sarcastically. “Catastrophe. _Killzone_.”

“Experiment,” Thomas adds. There’s a pause, then Minho glances up and they exchange an uneasy glance.

Minho lets the ivy fall back into place, as if he doesn’t want to look at it anymore. Thomas doesn’t blame him.

“Let’s keep going,” says Minho, already taking off. Thomas follows.

~||~

On the fifth day, Jared is carried back into the Glade by another runner who had heard his screams.

"I think a Griever got him," the boy says, half carrying, half dragging Jared behind him.

George is immediately there to grab Jared after the other boy collapses onto the grass from exhaustion. The doors are starting to close, and all Thomas can think about is how lucky the other boys were to make it back before they were trapped in there with the Grievers.

"But I thought they only came out at night?" Minho hesitantly asks.

"Well we were obviously wrong!" the boy says hysterically from the ground, pointing at Jared, who looks absolutely terrible. He's breathing weakly, his skin turning pale and chalky. "Is he going to die?"

Nick suddenly appears to help George, who's still holding Jared up. "This is why I told you guys to not go in there, it's obviously dangerous," he tells them matter-of-factly.

Thomas looks at Minho and can only barely suppress rolling his eyes, but by the way Minho hastily turns his laugh into a cough, Thomas doesn't think he did a very good job of it.

"Let's bring him to the Homestead," suggests George, already turning to go.

Once Jared is resting on George's makeshift bed, the other boys crowd around him.

The veins peeking out from beneath Jared's sleeve are starting to turn black, so Thomas rolls up his shirt in order to see what's causing it.

Nick almost immediately starts to gag, raising a hand to his mouth like that could stop him from puking.

"That's rank, dude," says Minho eloquently, and Thomas can only agree. On the right side of his torso, next to his ribs, there's a gaping black sore that looks really painful. It’s as if black ink was poured into Jared's body, with the sore being its initial starting point.

George leans forward, slowly putting a hand on Jared's stomach. Once there's contact, the muscles contract visibly and start to spasm, but Jared still doesn't wake up. Thomas almost doesn't want him to. Right now, he's probably blissfully unaware of what has happened to his body, and Thomas wants it to stay that way.

George pulls his hand back almost immediately. "What should we do? It's not like we have any medicine."

Almost on cue, another boy bursts in, holding something like an overgrown pen in his hand. It's Clint. He doubles over almost instantly, panting, as if he ran around the outskirts of the Glade four times before crashing into the Homestead. "Try this," he manages finally, standing upright. "I saw you guys carry Jared in here, and I immediately thought of this." Clint holds out the huge pen, and Thomas finally recognizes it as one of the liquid vials, the needles. The boys had wondered what they were used for, and honestly, this is a situation as good as ever to figure it out.

George and Nick share a glance.

"No," Nick says instantly. "We don't know what it does, and we don't even know if this," Nick gestures to the black marks on Jared's body, "is life threatening. He could still be okay."

"Come on, bro," scoffs Minho. "That looks like the second coming of the Black Plague."

Thomas is momentarily thrown, because the Black Plague was a real thing. He knows it happened a long time ago, and that it was a terrible, terrible disease that killed thousands, if not millions of people. But he doesn't even know what he looks like, or if he has a family. It only brings more questions of what the hell has happened to the gaps in his memory.

"Minho's right," George says. He gestures to Clint. "Go ahead."

Clint suddenly looks uncertain. "Me?" he asks timidly. "Are you sure?"

George nods, and Clint steps forward. He takes the cap off the vial, revealing the sharp point of the needle. Thomas catches the gleam of the casing where it spells out 'WICKED' and steps closer to Minho, gripping the back of his shirt in order to ground himself. Minho shifts, raising his arm to grip Thomas' bicep.

Thomas looks straight at Minho, and Minho stares back. _Wicked_ , Thomas mouths.

World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department. WICKED. Holy klunk.

Minho’s eyes widen in recognition.

They both look away when the screaming starts. Thomas doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Minho grips his arm tighter.

~||~

When a shrill alarm sounds, Thomas and Minho stop running. Thomas automatically reaches for Minho and they look at each other, panicked.

"We didn't set off a booby trap, did we?" Minho asks, spinning around and peering back down the corridor they just came down. "Because that would be such a shuck thing to do."

Thomas shakes his head slowly, listening hard. "Sounds like it's coming from the Glade."

Minho hovers closely, his hand ghosting over Thomas' lower back, and Thomas refuses to think more into it. This is not the time.

"Maybe we should go back," Minho suggests, and Thomas agrees.

When they arrive back at the Glade, the other Runners - minus Jared - are there too, hovering around the Box. It's not supply day. Is it?

"What's going on?" Thomas shouts at Nick once he gets close enough to be heard over the alarm.

"Something to do with the Box," Nick replies, standing with his feet apart and arms crossed. A military stance. It makes Thomas wonder - not for the first time - about their lives before the Glade. But once again, now is not the time to be speculating about _that_. "It hasn't come up yet, though."

"Where's the alarm coming from?" Minho asks, and Thomas can tell he doesn't like the sound, his face pinched with the effort of not holding his hands to his ears.

Nick shrugs. "Beats me."

"It's not supply day!" Minho shouts.

Nick looks at him gravely. "I know."

And then the box arrives. With a person.

His name is Alby.

~||~

Alby doesn't take to The Glade very well. At first he's standoffish and doesn't trust anyone, but eventually comes around and starts to become friendly with George, since George takes it upon himself to get the Newbie accustomed to wonderful life in The Glade.

Alby seems to have a knack for woodworking, and quickly settles in with the other Builders.

Thomas and Minho continue running together, both pretending that they're not getting discouraged by the lack of an exit.

They both know they're fooling each other.

~||~

Jared has been back on his feet for about a week, so Aaron and him go back out into the Maze. It's good to have Jared back on the team, having one less Runner out in the field hadn't been fun. So that makes it all the more worse when Jared and Aaron don't make it back before the Doors close.

Thomas and Minho make it back with five minutes to spare, and are told that the other boys hadn't made it back. After exchanging a worried glance, they decide to wait for them to come back out of the West Door.

Except they don't come.

"Should we go in?" Thomas asks, inching forward into the Maze.

Minho's hand shoots out, gripping his chest and forcing him backwards. "The Doors close in less than five, Thomas. If they don't get back, the Grievers will get them. And you too, if you go in there, you dumb shank."

"But," Thomas replies feebly. The thought of leaving his friends for dead makes him sick to his stomach.

Slowly, the Door grinds shut before them, and Jared and Aaron are stuck in the Maze.

"There's nothing we can do. We'll look for them tomorrow, alright?" Minho places a hand on Thomas' shoulder, but Thomas goes straight in for a hug, his face nestled into Minho's neck.

"This is klunk," he mumbles into Minho's skin.

"Yeah," Minho agrees, holding Thomas as tight as Thomas is gripping him. "It is."

~||~

They find Aaron three days later in a pool of his own blood with no left arm.

Thomas and Minho bring him back into the Glade, and Thomas suggests they bury him in the most peaceful place he knows.

Together, they dig a grave, and after dragging the lifeless body of someone he considered a friend to the forest, Thomas is almost glad he has something to do with his bloodstained hands.

George hosts a ceremony over his buried body, with one message abundantly clear: no one can survive a night in the Maze.

Jared's body is never found.

~||~

Thomas is resting in his favourite spot to unwind, nestled into the corner of the forest. It's his place he goes when he wants to relax, doze away the aches and pains of running the Maze, erasing the worry of never finding a way out, being stuck here forever.

He's almost asleep when someone kicks his foot, and he should be more surprised than he is when he finds out it's just Minho.

Minho's looking at him fondly, still lightly kicking Thomas' sneakered foot.

Minho had suggested maybe sending a note down the Box for better running supplies a couple of weeks ago, and maybe whoever the hell had put them in this god forsaken maze - WICKED, Thomas’ brain supplies - could be nice and give them what they wanted. And they did. Twenty shiny wrist watches and a whole container full of running shoes later, and here they were.

"Get up, slinthead," Minho said, giving Thomas' foot a final kick. "They're all having a bonfire out there. Didn't want you to miss it." Minho leans down to grab Thomas' outstretched hand and pulls him to his feet. Thomas stumbles forwards, still clumsy from drowsiness, going straight into Minho's chest, and Minho steadies him with a hand on his hip. Thomas can feel his cheeks heat up, hopes it's too dark in the forest for Minho to tell that he's blushing.

"How are you even a Runner?" Minho jokes, slinging an arm around Thomas' shoulder and leading him out of the woodsy area. "Always freakin' trippin' and klunk. How _do_ you do it?"

"Shuck-face," Thomas retorts half-heartedly, mashing his hand into Minho's face and pretending to get away. Minho only holds on tighter, which is definitely not what Thomas intended to happen, no sir-ee.

As they step closer into the view of the other boys, someone shouts, "Stop your googly-eyes and come help build this fire!" Newt.

Newt came up in the Box four months ago, a month or two after Alby, and since then has become Thomas and Minho's right-hand man when it comes to the Maze; besides them two, Newt is their best runner. Plus, after losing Jared and Aaron, the Runners have just never been the same. It’s hard to recruit new members that know exactly what could happen to them if they make a wrong move.

"What googly-eyes are you on about?" Minho laughs, accepting the glass that's thrust into his hand by Alby. "You better be talking about the eyes you two make at each other," he says, gesturing between Newt and Alby.

"What's this?" Thomas asks, holding up his own identical glass.

"Don't ask, don't tell!" Newt says, dancing around the growing fire.

"Is he alright?" Minho asks Alby, who's looking at Newt like he's the sun in the sky, giddy and completely happy.

"He's already had a glass or two," Alby grins, holding up his own glass and downing it. His face screws up and he grimaces, but manages to keep the drink down. "Drink up!" He leaves the two alone, dancing along with Newt and the other boys. Harvey and some other boys are drumming on empty crates, creating a really good beat that Newt is shamelessly dancing off time to.

Thomas takes Minho's wrist and drags him over to one of the logs, sitting on the grass with his back up against the rough wood. Their backs are to the fire, and Thomas relaxes against Minho, looking at the stars. He slowly sips at the awful concoction, knowing that Newt would somehow find out that he didn't drink any of it and be disappointed, and disappointing Newt's the equivalent of kicking a puppy. That's why it's so hard when every single day, they're no closer to finding an exit out of the Maze.

"It's been six months," Thomas says, leaning heavily on Minho's side.

As if knowing what Thomas is thinking, Minho says, "Don't worry. There's a way out. There has to be."

Thomas eyes a Beetle Blade that's crawling through the grass, moving closer to the bonfire, closer to all the boys.

It's been speculated between the boys multiple times that the Beetle Blades are actually how the people who sent them here - the Creators, WICKED, _whoever_ \- watch them, and right now, with its flashing red eyes and how it's crawling around, as if trying to get the best angle of the dancing boys, Thomas doesn't think their assumptions are wrong.

"Why else would they send us here, right?" Thomas says vaguely.

"What?"

"Why else would the Creators send a whole bunch of kids into this shuck place if there wasn't a way out?" Thomas elaborates.

Something must be apparent in his expression, because Minho doesn't say anything, just presses his lips to Thomas' temple for a moment, and Thomas feels safe. He feels like he's home when he's with Minho. Eventually, Minho pulls back and pushes Thomas' head onto his shoulder, forcing Thomas to relax into him.

As Thomas begins to drift off, he thinks he hears Minho say, "Don't worry, Thomas. I'll get you out of here," but then he's fading and sleep takes over.

~||~

More people are lost to the Maze.

Watching the forest become a graveyard makes everything worse.

~||~

When George dies, all work in the Glade stops. George was a good leader, and had been for a solid ten months.

Thomas doesn't even know how it happened, and he wants to keep it that way.

Nick steps up as leader, and Alby becomes his second-in-command.

Thomas prays they don't lose anyone else.

~||~

Minho finds Thomas later that same day, sitting on the edge of the Cliff.

It should be more morbid than it is, sitting at the edge of the wall that other boys have lost their lives to.

Thomas finds it peaceful.

"Don't jump."

Minho's tone of voice is lighthearted, almost joking, but when Thomas looks up, his face is hard, concerned. Worried.

Thomas manages a smile, but it feels foreign on his face, his cheeks too tight and lips twisted. "I couldn't leave you here by yourself," Thomas says. "You wouldn't last a day."

Minho is quiet for a moment, looks at the sky. He sits next to Thomas, legs dangling over the edge of the Cliff. Then he says softly, "No, I probably wouldn't."

Despite what Thomas said earlier, he fixes Minho with a hard look, brows furrowing. "Don't say that."

"I'm saying it because it's true," Minho tells him, and the brutal honesty makes Thomas' chest hurt. Where's Minho's natural tendency to make a joke out of everything when he needs it? "I don't know if I could survive in this godforsaken place without you."

And, well. Crap. Now that Minho's said it, Thomas is picturing it: Running alone in the Maze, sitting alone at dinner, dancing with Newt and Alby at their occasional bonfires instead of Minho. Somehow Minho has become his entire world here in the Glade without him realizing it. It seems wrong, Thomas being with anyone other than Minho, and Thomas says so.

Minho looks at Thomas funny, like he's finally solved a puzzle he's spent ages to figure out. Thomas is about to comment on it but then Minho is surging forward, pressing his lips against Thomas'.

A part of Thomas thinks _this is new_ , but then there's another part of him that's closer to the surface, sighing _finally_.

Minho starts to pull back, but Thomas chases after him, pulling him back in with a hand at the base of his neck.

The kisses are clumsy, sloppy, but Thomas can't bring himself to care. This is _Minho_ , for god’s sake. Thomas feels like he's been waiting his whole life for this moment, where he can lose himself in Minho, hold him close and forget about why he's in this stupid Maze in the first place.

It feels like coming home.

~||~

It's weird that it's not weird.

Thomas and Minho continue running through the Maze as they always do, joking and chasing one another down long corridors, only now kisses are given as rewards when the other catches up instead of smart-aleck remarks.

It's easier like this. It's safe, comfortable, and Thomas is no longer heavy with the weight of finding the way out of the Maze. Minho shares the weight of it with him, and together they make it through each day.

Days pass, months pass, and no exit is found. But it's simpler when they're together. It feels as if no time has passed at all since that one day on the Cliff.

And Thomas is okay with that, as long as Minho is by his side.

~||~

It's three months later when Minho decides 'shuck it,' and decides to ask the Creators for something a bit different.

"Oh my freakin' god. They sent it."

"You're lying."

"I swear I'm not. Come look."

Minho drops into the Box eagerly, coming up behind Thomas in order to see the crate he's peering into. "I can't believe it," he says, reaching to grab one of the bottles.

Thomas takes the bottle from Minho's grip, holding it up to his face and peering through the golden liquid. "You were the one who sent the note."

"That doesn't mean I actually thought they would send us real alcohol!"

"No backsies," Thomas singsongs, holding the bottle to his chest protectively. He takes the crate in hand and shouts into the sky. "NEWT. ALBY. Come help!"

Newt's face pops into view a few moments later, a weird mix of hope and excitement. "Did they send it?"

"You shuckin' bet they did," Thomas says, lifting the crate like some sort of trophy. "Tell Alby we're having a bonfire tonight."

"Will do, Tommy." Newt grins, and then he's gone.

~||~

Thomas is who-knows-how-many-bottles deep into the bonfire and nothing has ever made him feel more alive. He's dancing with all the other boys and laughing at their terrible dance moves, but maybe he's not one to talk, since him and Minho have barely been doing anything classified as dancing.

Minho is plastered against Thomas' back, Thomas subtly grinding back against him. Thomas throws his head back and takes a swig of whatever the shuck he has in his hand at the moment and it burns all the way down.

A warm, wet tongue makes contact with the lobe of his ear, a sharp sting of teeth against soft skin, and Thomas lets out a breathy moan. He reaches back with his free hand to tangle his fingers into Minho's thick hair just to hold him there, maybe to pull him closer.

Thomas has been pleasantly turned on for the whole night, and he decides he's going to do something about it.

He stretches to nudge Newt with the edge of the bottle, trying not to completely separate from Minho while doing so.

"What?" Newt laughs, bouncing around like a child on a sugar high.

"Take this," Thomas demands, and there must be something showing on his face because Newt's expression turns smug. Newt takes the bottle and waves them off.

"Have fun," he singsongs, lifting the rim to his lips and taking a long drink.

Thomas is too buzzed to care about Newt's knowing grin, he's much more focused on the hardening line of Minho's cock against his ass. It only makes him grind back slower and firmer.

Minho grunts, a hot puff of air hissing along Thomas' neck. Strong hands come up to hold Thomas' hips, lithe fingers dipping underneath the waistband of his pants.

While Thomas may be a tad inebriated, he's not drunk enough to allow Minho to get him off in front of literally all the boys. He regretfully detaches himself from Minho's hold, spinning around and catching his hands before they fall to his sides. Minho looks absolutely shuckin' _gone_ , pupils blown wide, his lips slick and puffy _already_ , Jesus Christ.

"Shower?" Minho suggests before Thomas can, and Thomas is helpless to lean in to kiss the word right out of his mouth.

"Shuck yes," breathes Thomas.

Together they make their way through the field, stopping periodically to kiss each other like they just can't help it. Once they're completely alone with the door shut and the heaviest item they can find shoved up against it, they stand facing each other, panting slightly, eyes dark.

"Strip," Thomas says, and Minho does.

Thomas follows suit, throwing his clothes haphazardly around the room. That's a problem sober Thomas will have to deal with. Right now, it's the least of his problems.

Minho reaches out to turn on the shower, waiting a moment for the water to get warm. Stray droplets form on his naked chest as he stands there, and Thomas has a moment of wanting to lick them off before remembering that he can. He dips his head lower to suck at Minho's warm skin, moving to his neck when Minho tilts his head to allow him more room. Thomas lets his hands creep onto Minho's hips, one hand moving lower down his thigh. Minho's hips stutter forwards, hoping Thomas' hand will move closer to where he wants it, but no such luck.

Minho turns in order to push Thomas back against the wall so they're both under the water's spray. Thomas gasps as the cold wall makes contact with his skin, but it's quickly forgotten once Minho presses his full body up against him, firm and oh so warm.

Minho captures Thomas’ lips in a heated kiss, his tongue seeking Thomas’ insistently.

“I want to ruin you,” Minho says before pressing back in for more kisses, voice husky and deep and nothing like Thomas has ever heard before.

“Please do,” Thomas gasps.

“Well,” Minho grins, the quirk of his lip sharp, the flash of incisor making Thomas lose his breath. “Since you said please.” And then sinks to his knees.

~||~

Minho forces Newt to sit out from running when Newt breaks his ankle running away from a Griever.

Newt puts up a front, trying to protest. "No, I can keep going, it's fine."

When Minho doesn't let up, demanding Newt take a break and allow time for his ankle to heal, Thomas can see the relief that courses through him. Newt relaxes back into the bed the Med-Jacks have set him up in.

"Are you sure?" Newt asks Minho.

Despite the question not being directed at him, Thomas replies. "You take as long as you need off, okay? We don't need you back in the Maze yet."

Minho nods his agreement.

"Alright," Newt agrees. "Thanks, Tommy."

~||~

They host a ceremony for Nick when he passes away. Alby puts on a brave face as he gives a short speech, but Thomas can see how hard he's gripping Newt's arm, knuckles turning white.

Thomas doesn't even notice he's holding Minho's hand so tightly until Minho squeezes back just as hard.

~||~

Thomas and Minho lay together one night, eyelids drooping and breath mingling quietly.

Thomas has his arm resting in the dip of Minho's waist, a leg slung possessively over his thigh. Minho's head is tucked underneath Thomas' chin, resting comfortably. They're both still, but Thomas can tell Minho's not asleep yet.

There's a scream in the distance, in the Homestead, and Thomas instinctively clutches Minho tighter. It's not the first time someone's gotten stung by one of the Grievers, but the bone-chilling screeches are not something that's easy to get used to. If anything, it gets worse each time.

The day in the Maze had been fruitless, but Thomas hadn't really expected anything else. Mapping the wall changes was becoming pointless. It had taken a while, but the Runners had finally figured out that the Maze was repeating itself. Once the walls moved to a certain point, they would shift back to where they had been at the start. It had to mean something, but him and Minho just couldn’t figure it out.

Months ago, Minho had shared a story about how if they were to run their right hands along the wall, forcing them to turn right at every corner, they would eventually find the exit. Thomas and Minho had tried it out, excited at the possibility that they had finally cracked the Maze, but their hopes were squashed when all it did was lead them right back to the Glade.

Realization finally started to dawn on them. If there was a way out of the Maze, it would've been found by now. It's been almost two years now, and Thomas is tired. So, so tired.

Thomas cuddles into Minho further, breathing in his comforting smell.

And that's it, isn't it? It's Minho. It's probably always been Minho. The confessions that both of them made before their first kiss still shift restlessly in his mind. He can't do this without Minho, would probably have fallen off the buggin' Cliff by now if it wasn't for Minho being a constant at his side.

They will find a way out for this stupid, dysfunctional family they have here at the Glade. Thomas knows he will do anything in his power to protect them, and knows Minho would do the same.

Thomas knows they'll find a way out. As long as Minho and him are together, they'll be alright.

~||~

It's a couple months later when Thomas stops running as Minho grinds to a halt, holding up his hand.

"What's there?" Thomas whispers.

"A Griever," Minho replies softly.

"Shuck," Thomas curses. "Let's go back." He turns around, about to grab his pad of paper to map the familiar wall changes, but Minho grabs his arm before he can fully turn away. Thomas looks to Minho, but Minho is still completely focused on the creature that lies behind the corner. "Minho," Thomas hisses. "I don't feel like gettin' stung today. Let's go back."

"Just give me a second," he says, and steps out from behind the corner, moving towards the Griever.

"Minho!" Thomas whisper-yells at him. "Get back here, you stupid shank!"

Minho doesn't listen, continues on closer to the Griever. With a groan, Thomas reluctantly jogs after him.

"I think it's dead," Minho says as he comes to a stop a few feet away from the unmoving Griever. When he moves even closer, Thomas grabs his wrist to stop him.

"Hey, stop," Thomas says as Minho turns back to him. "Let's go tell Newt and Alby. They'll want to know."

"What, you scared?" Minho grins, laughing softly.

Thomas just looks at him, annoyed, pointedly ignoring his remark. "I already told you, I don't feel like gettin' stung today. Let's go tell the others."

And something must show on his face, because Minho takes one look at him and nods. He reaches down to tangle his fingers with Thomas' and tugs him back around the corner.

Once they're far away enough from the Griever for Thomas' shoulders to relax, he pulls Minho closer to drop a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Minho turns into the kiss, catching Thomas' lips with his own. The brush of Minho's tongue against his own is as much of a _you're welcome_ as he's ever heard.

~||~

"Did you find anything?" Newt eagerly asks as Thomas and Minho enter the Homestead.

Minho grins at him. "We saw a dead Griever. Sittin' real pretty around one of the corners near section two."

"Really?" Alby comes out of one of the rooms, wiping his hands on a cloth.

"Yeah," Minho says. "Wanna go check it out?"

Alby looks at Newt, as if on instinct, but then looks out at the setting sun through the window. "Tomorrow," he tells Minho. "We'll go tomorrow."

~||~

That night, Thomas slips into Minho's hammock and snuggles up to him, spooning him from behind. He's done this so often that Minho doesn't even make a noise, just shifts back into the curve of Thomas' body.

"Y'alright?" Minho asks, his tongue heavy with sleep.

"Yeah," Thomas replies softly, hot breath fanning over the back of Minho's neck.

Minho reaches back with a clumsy hand and pulls Thomas' hand over his hip to rest with his own over his stomach, fingers intertwining.

"Sleep," Minho says, and Thomas does.

~||~

Minho is gone when Thomas wakes up the next day, the sun high in the sky. The Doors are open, meaning Thomas slept in. A lot.

He stumbles out of Minho's hammock and straight into Newt, who must have been looking for him.

"Hey," Newt says, and then he gives Thomas a sly grin. "Late night?" His eyebrows are raised and his lips are tilted into a smirk, and Thomas doesn't like where this is headed.

"What?" he says oh so eloquently. "No." He scrubs a hand down his face, willing himself to wake the klunk up.

"Alby and Minho went out into the Maze right at sunrise," Newt says without having to be asked. "Minho said to let you sleep in."

Thomas feels a flare of irritation. "Minho doesn't get a say in whether or not I go into the Maze," he says bitterly.

If Newt is surprised by the short outburst, he doesn't show it. "Maybe he couldn't bring himself to wake up his sleeping angel," and by the way he grins, Thomas knows he's trying to be funny.

"He's done it before," Thomas grumbles, and heads off into the bathroom. He guesses if he's got a day off, he's going to spend it right. And that starts with a warm shower.

~||~

Thomas tries to enjoy Frypan's dinner, but as the sun sinks lower in the sky, his stomach sinks along with it. Alby and Minho were supposed to be back ages ago.

At lunch, the nerves had started to set in, but Thomas had brushed away the uncertainty, thinking that Minho was also showing Alby the deep crack in one of the walls of the Maze they had found previously. But even now, they've been gone for too long.

He pushes his food away and goes to stand by the Door he knows they'll come through. A short while later, Newt comes to join him, looking just as worried. He's chewing on his nail and looking straight into the Maze.

"Where the shuck are they?" Newt says irritably, shifting his weight onto his better foot.

"I don't know," Thomas replies quietly. He's dreading the thought of why they're so late, if Alby and Minho are even on their way back. Did a Griever get them? Did Minho fall off the shuckin' cliff? Are they both freakin' dead? Thomas didn't even say goodbye.

He doesn't know how much more speculation he can take when he finally spots Minho in the distance. It's amazing Thomas' legs don't give out, considering the amount of relief that washes over Thomas once he sees him.

"Minho!" Thomas yells, and he makes to move into the Maze. Newt holds him back, almost hugging him from behind, putting all his weight into pulling him back into the Glade. "Let me go!" Thomas yells at him, struggling against Newt's hold.

"Quit it, Tommy. You know the shuckin' rules," Newt says, voice strained.

Thomas knows what he's talking about, the rule that risking your life to help save another's in the Maze is forbidden. But this is _Minho_.

Newt's still holding him tight across the chest. "Look, something's wrong," he manages.

Thomas can see it now, Minho struggling with the weight of Alby, who looks near unconscious. Minho is stumbling closer to the Door, but he's still so far away. Thomas can start to hear the grind of the other Doors sliding shut.

Thomas can't even think. If those doors close, then Minho's dead. He needs to go, to help, to get them back in the Glade. His breathing gets shallower as the Door separating them starts its journey home. Thomas thrashes harder against Newt.

"Newt, let me go, I need to help!" Thomas shouts, but Newt doesn't release his hold.

Thomas watches the Door close inch by inch and he knows that he can't do this without Minho, doesn't even want to bother doing this without Minho. He has to get to him _right freakin' now_.

It's a dick move, what he's about to do, but the idea of just leaving Minho in the Maze overnight with Alby injured doesn't even seem like an option anymore.

Thomas kicks at Newt's bad ankle as hard as he can, and Newt stumbles back with a cry of pain. Before he knows what he's doing, Thomas is slipping past the Door and into the Maze right before the spikes slot home into their corresponding holes.

Minho stops struggling with Alby, leaving him to lie on the cold stone. He looks up at Thomas from his sitting position next to Alby. He looks almost _angry_. "Why the shuck would you do that?" he asks with narrowed eyes.

"Why would I-" Thomas breaks off incredulously. "Why would I come _save you_? Are you _joking_?"

" _Save me_? What were you thinking?" Minho says back, getting to his feet. His voice has started to rise. "That was the stupidest, shuckiest shuck-face thing you could've done, you idiot! You-"

"I came in here because I-" Thomas stops himself before he can say any more. He thinks about it and knows that what he's going to say is true, and he's going to say it without regrets. "I came in here because I love you!" he shouts. "And you didn't even say goodbye this morning and we never run without each other and _I can't do this without you!"_

The silence is much more pronounced once Thomas stops yelling. “It’s been so long since our first kiss, Minho, but everything I said that day, I still mean it. I don’t even want to think about doing this without you,” Thomas adds quietly.

Minho is looking at him with surprise, eyes wide and mouth open. The fight in him deflates. "Oh," he says faintly.

Thomas breathes heavily, heart thudding. Suddenly, he feels very tired. He gestures down to Alby with a sigh. "What's wrong with-"

He's cut off by Minho pushing him back against the cold stone wall. His hands are next to Thomas' head, boxing him in.

"You're the dumbest shank I know," Minho tells him, and then his lips are pressing to Thomas', hot and heavy. Minho licks into Thomas' mouth languidly, and Thomas brings his hands to Minho's hips, pulling him closer and rucking up his shirt to get his hands on hot skin. He doesn't even know how long they stay like that. For all he knows, they're back in the Glade, hidden in the forest at Thomas' favourite spot or maybe sharing a lukewarm shower.

They quickly break apart when the skitter of Grievers is heard from a few corridors over, and the illusion is shattered.

"We gotta move," Minho says, suddenly serious. The only thing that stops Thomas from making a sarcastic remark is the fear that's slowly creeping back into him. The fact that he's about to spend a night locked in the Maze, and the fact that nobody has ever survived a night in this shuck place sets his nerves on edge. His heart is still thudding almost painfully in his chest.

"We have to hide Alby," Thomas says. Minho grumbles about it, but does throw one of Alby's arms around his neck while Thomas grabs his other arm. "The vines," Thomas manages to grunt out, steering them towards the best place he can think of to hide Alby.

Minho helps him tie Alby up, and between the two of them, they manage it pretty quickly.

But then the Grievers come.

~||~

And Thomas cries. Once Minho and Thomas jump out of the way of the oncoming Grievers, watching them disappear from sight over the Cliff, Thomas is so emotionally and physically exhausted that he freakin' cries.

In the two years Thomas has been in the Glade, he has never cried in front of anyone. He's embarrassed, of course he is, but he's glad it's Minho that he's doing it in front of, out of anyone else. Minho is his best friend, but also so much more than that.

So Minho holds him close, soothes him, drags fingers through Thomas' hair in order to calm him down. Thomas turns into Minho's shoulder and clutches at his shirt, finally getting to just occasional hiccups and sniffles.

"I can't believe we're buggin' alive," Minho laughs softly into Thomas' hair.

Thomas just breathes, nuzzling further into Minho.

"For the record," Minho says, and the way he says it makes Thomas look up at him. "I love you too."

And Thomas smiles. It starts out small, but it grows and grows and it's brighter than the shuckin' sun, is what it is. Minho can't help but kiss him.

~||~

Newt is waiting at the Door when Thomas and Minho make their way back to the Glade, Alby hanging unconscious between them.

"He's been stung," Minho announces. "He needs the Serum."

Newt just gapes at them, as well as the other Gladers that have gathered around the open Door.

"How in the living hell did you survive in there?" Newt asks, completely flabbergasted.

Turns out a night in the Maze hasn't diminished Minho's sense of humour. "The power of love, dude," he snickers. Thomas rolls his eyes.

"Thomas!" Chuck yells. He runs straight into him, knocking all the breath out of his lungs, forcing Newt to continue carrying Alby to the Med-Jacks. "I thought you died," Chuck says, tone accusing. He pushes Thomas away but then pulls him back into a hug ferociously.

Thomas just kneels and hugs Chuck back as hard as he can. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm back now. It's alright."

"You better be sorry, slinthead," Chuck says. It sounds as if he's trying to be angry, but it just comes out relieved.

Thomas can relate.

~||~

It's bonfire night, but Alby is still recovering from being stung, and Newt is with him, sitting by his bed with one of Alby's hands clasped in both of his. Maybe one of these days they'll get their klunk together and actually talk about their feelings for once.

Until then, however, the other boys put together a small fire and arrange the sitting logs around it. It's by no means as big and boisterous as their usual bonfire, but it does the job quite nicely. There's no drinks being passed around or music being played, all of the boys either sitting on the logs or leaning up against them, content to sit and watch the fire. There's stories being thrown back and forth, crazy speculation of what Thomas and Minho did in the Maze in order to leave in one piece. Thomas is too exhausted to refute any of them, and Minho just finds it quietly amusing.

Thomas currently sits in between Minho's splayed legs, resting against Minho's chest. Minho's arms are wrapped securely around Thomas' front, hugging him closer. None of the boys pay much attention to them, pretty used to seeing them together by now. To his credit, the Greenie of the month has only been caught looking at them twice.

Thomas is so glad to be alive, and in Minho's arms at that. He can't believe that twenty-four hours ago him and Minho were still in the Maze, wondering if they'd even survive the night.

He relaxes further into Minho, sighing heavily. One question still remains on his mind.

"Why were you so mad that I went into the Maze?" Thomas asks Minho, tilting his head up so he can look at his face.

Minho doesn't reply for a long while, long enough that Thomas thinks he's not actually going to respond.

"I didn't want you to die," Minho finally says. There's a sarcastic comment right there, Thomas is sure of it. Something like "These shanks wouldn't last a day without their best runners," or "No one would solve the Maze if we aren't around to save their shuck bee-hinds," but none come. Minho's voice is gentle, vulnerable in the soft light. Thomas turns his face into Minho's chest, nosing along the hard lines of his collarbones, brows furrowed, overwhelmed.

"When Alby got stung," Minho continues softly, "all I could think of was getting back to the Glade. Once I knew we weren't going to make it in time, the only thing that kept me going was _you_. You were still safe in the Glade, you were going to be fine, even if I wasn't." Minho takes a deep breath, exhaling into Thomas' hair. "When I saw you come into the Maze I almost wanted to throttle you." He laughs, a short huff of sound. "But we're both here now, and that's all that matters."

Thomas presses a kiss to the underside of Minho's jaw, silently agreeing.

"I love you," he says into warm skin.

Minho shifts in order to look down at Thomas. He's grinning, and for once he keeps the sarcasm at bay. "I love you too."

~||~

Thomas and Minho wait around for a bit on Greenie day. They always like to see the unlucky shank who has the pleasure of joining them in the Glade before heading out into the Maze.

Thomas hovers over the Box once it's open, always scouting for a new Runner. Long legs, slim build, and lean muscles usually make a good Runner. They could always use a few extra hands. (Or legs, ha.)

Except this Greenie is different. Thomas looks at Newt uncertainly, suddenly wrong-footed.

First of all, it's a girl. Secondly, she looks dead.

"What are you just standing around for?" Minho asks, sounding slightly worried but mostly just annoyed. "What's wrong?"

Thomas pauses, looking at the gathered group of boys. "It's a girl," he announces.

The boys erupt in a burst of noise, murmurs floating through the group that's surrounding the Box. They huddle closer, all trying to get a glimpse.

Thomas drops into the Box next to the girl. He crouches down, about to move some of the hair from her face when she bolts upright, her shocking blue eyes wide open and staring right at him.

Thomas startles, stumbling back a few feet.

"Thomas," she breathes, and then falls back to the floor of the Box, back to her comatose state, chest rising and falling shallowly. Her hand sticks straight up, and in it lies a crumpled piece of paper.

He looks up at Newt, then Minho. They look as surprised as he feels.

Thomas takes the paper gingerly from her grip, perplexed. What the piece of paper says though, is slightly more perplexing.

"It says..." Thomas trails off, clears his throat. "It says: _She's the last one. Ever_."

A loud burst of noise washes over Thomas, the boys trying to talk over one another all at once.

"Guys!" Newt shouts. "Shut up!"

"Someone help me with her," Thomas eventually says to the group of boys. He starts stacking crates into a shoddy staircase, and then lifts the girl bridal style into his arms. Everyone just looks at them, but then Minho finally spurs into action, waiting at the top of the stacked crates in order to take her from Thomas' arms.

"Take her to the Med-Jacks," Newt suggests. Then he looks out at the crowded boys, must be about fifty or sixty of them by now. "Nobody touches her, you got that? No one."

Everyone nods, and Newt nods back. "Good that," he says, following Minho and Thomas into the Med-Jack house. "Everyone back to work!"

~||~

Thomas sits in a chair that's next to the girl's bed, staring at her in confusion.

How did she know his name? Why is she a girl?

Things used to be so black and white. No one can survive a night in the Maze. A _boy_ comes up in the Box every month. And now that note. _She's the last one. Ever._

What does that even mean? Everything is messed up.

"Well," Minho starts, stretching his arms and legs, twisting around restlessly, "since you seem so tied up here, I'm gonna go." He means into the Maze, and Thomas knows that.

Thomas' hand shoots out and grabs Minho's wrist before he can leave. "Not on your life, shuck-face. You're not going alone."

"Then let's go," Minho says pointedly.

Thomas wants to. But he feels a weird connection to the girl, doesn't want to leave her quite yet.

"There's nothing you can do, Thomas," Minho says. "She'll wake up in her own sweet time, but there's still a Maze out there that needs to be solved." Minho looks to Clint, the head Med-Jack, in order to back him up.

"Don't worry," Clint placates. "She'll be fine in our hands."

Thomas wants to stay, but remembers the last time Minho went into the Maze without him, and that clears up any unresolved feelings pretty quickly.

Thomas stands up. "Let's go."

~||~

They're only half an hour or so into the Maze when Thomas starts to get a headache. He tries to hide it, and thinks he's doing a good job of it until Minho suggests they head back, three hours too early.

"I'm fine," Thomas protests.

"No, you're not," Minho says frankly. "And I'm actually pretty insulted you thought I wouldn't notice."

Thomas sighs, and the headache actually seems to be getting better with every passing second, but then an ear-splitting cacophony of sound rushes through his mind, like the static of a microphone blaring to life multiplied by a thousand. Thomas raises his hands to his ears, trying to block it out, hunching in on himself.

"Whoa, whoa," Minho moves closer to him, crouching down and trying to see Thomas' face. "What's wrong? Thomas!"

"You don't hear that?" Thomas yells, and Minho just looks at him, bewildered.

"There's nothing to hear!"

And then it stops, blissful silence taking its place. Thomas sags against the Maze wall in relief.

"You're going crazy," Minho tells him.

 _Thomas_.

Thomas startles. At first he thinks the voice comes from Minho, but Thomas didn't see his mouth move. It didn't even sound like Minho.

 _Teresa_.

The voice comes again, softer, feminine. The only girl he knows is back in the Glade, still completely out cold. Somehow, he knows this is her, that the girl is speaking to him in his head.

Oh man, Thomas really is going crazy.

~||~

Thomas explains it all to Minho that night, both sitting at the girl's bed side.

"I think her name is Teresa," he tells Minho at the end of it all.

"Shuck it all," Minho says. "If we weren't sent up here by people who want teenage boys to solve a Maze, then I'd say you're crazy." Minho shakes his head. "But there have been weirder occurrences."

There really hasn't; nothing compares to a girl being sent up in the Box that Thomas is somehow telepathically linked to, but Thomas appreciates Minho saying it anyways. He's glad Minho believes him, out of everything. He's not sure what would have happened if Minho looked at him like he really had gone crazy and walked out. Thomas isn't sure he could've taken it.

"Hey, it doesn't look as if she's going to wake up anytime soon." Minho stands up, holds out his hand to Thomas. "Bed?"

Thomas is so glad that Minho hasn't run for hills. He takes Minho's hand and allows himself to be led out.

~||~

As Thomas and Minho run through the Maze a day later, Thomas makes a sharp turn, heads towards the Cliff.

Minho almost misses it, almost continues to run straight before backtracking and following Thomas. "What are you doing?"

"Just," Thomas continues running, taking the necessary route to get where he wants to go. "Trust me."

And Minho does. Of course he does.

It's a little while later when Thomas finally slows to a jog, and then a walk, right before the edge of the Cliff. He sits down, waiting for Minho to do the same.

"I've been thinking about the night we spent in the Maze," Thomas says as Minho finally takes his place next to him.

Minho swallows, looks at their surroundings. So much has happened at this stupid cliff. He feels a small sense of foreboding, swallowing thickly around the sudden lump in his throat. "Are you breaking up with me?" Minho asks quietly.

Thomas whips his head around so quick Minho thinks he might've given himself whiplash. "What?" he manages. "No, no of course not-- why would you think that?"

Minho shrugs, looking out at the sky. "This is where we got together. Maybe you're trying to be poetic or something."

"No," Thomas assures him. "I'm not breaking up with you. Do-" he breaks off, chewing his bottom lip and looking away. "Do _you_ want to break up with _me_?"

Even though he said it, Thomas dreads the answer. Maybe all his talk about telepathy with a strange girl in a coma was enough to send him packing.

He looks up as he feels fingers trace the line of his jaw, thumb pressing against his lip, freeing it from the bite Thomas has on it. Minho gently leans in to brush their lips together, faint and fleeting at first, but then deeper, harder, slow and languid. Minho pulls out every trick he knows that can leave Thomas a boneless, shuddering mess.

Thomas guesses that's answer enough.

"I love you," Thomas tells Minho. "How could you think-"

"I assumed. I'm sorry," and to Minho's credit, he does look suitably sheepish. "Just with the appearance of this girl, _Teresa_ , I don’t know. You were acting awfully cryptic there, Thomas."

Thomas grins apologetically. "I don't know if I'm right, but I have a theory."

"I'm listening."

"When those Grievers rolled off the Cliff, they disappeared."

Minho looks at him blankly. "Yeah, I know, babe. I was there."

"Don't be a shank," Thomas says. "We've thrown things off the Cliff before, Minho. Nothing's ever just disappeared like that."

"Everything's just fallen until we can't see it anymore," Minho adds, looking like he finally understands where Thomas is going with this. He scrambles off the edge. "Bet you I can find bigger rocks than you can," he says, and then he's off like a shot.

"Minho!" Thomas calls fruitlessly after him, climbing to his feet and following.

They reconvene back at the Cliff once they've found some rocks, even some bigger pieces from crumbling concrete in the cracks of the Maze walls. Both boys sit on the edge as they had before, each with a pile of rocks at their side. They take turns throwing the rocks into bleak nothingness, and with each one slowly fading from view until completely gone, their hope dwindles.

"I thought this would work," Thomas says quietly, so quiet that he's a little surprised when Minho responds.

"Yeah," Minho grunts as he chucks a bigger piece as far as he can, watches it fade from sight.

"I'm sorry," Thomas says, lying down on the stone, legs still dangling off the edge. He doesn't know why there are tears prickling at his eyes, doesn't like feeling so hopeless in this situation. He throws an arm over his eyes to shield his face from Minho.

"Hey," says Minho softly. "Don't be sorry." He tugs at Thomas' arm, but Thomas resists.

"I feel stupid. Maybe we should just give up," Thomas says, voice slightly muffled. Suddenly, he sits back up, eyes bright. "Minho, it's been two shuckin' years. If there was a real way out of the Maze, we would've found it by now. We don't even map the wall changes anymore because we know exactly how to get around. It's over. We failed the test." Thomas gets to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting to the sky. "Do you hear that?! We can't find the stupid exit! Let us out!"

Minho looks up at him sadly. Thomas seems so small, dejected. He's pinching the bridge of his nose and Minho can tell that he's trying his hardest not to cry. Minho doesn't like seeing him like this. "Thomas," Minho starts, reaching out to him. "Come here, babe."

Thomas takes a moment to recollect himself, half turned away from Minho with hands on his hips, blinking into the sun. After he takes a deep breath, he sits back down next to Minho, immediately leaning into him. Minho wraps an arm over his shoulders and pulls Thomas closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. Minho doesn't even bother saying anything, doesn't want to tell Thomas that everything's going to be alright when it might not be. Doesn't want to tell Thomas that they're going to make it out of here when they've been trying already for two years, and look where that's got them.

"There isn't a way out of the Maze."

Thomas says it so calmly, like a well known fact that can't be refuted. He might have well as said that the sky is blue, that the sun sets every night and rises every morning.

Minho almost doesn't want to fight him on this, but how can he not? He's been looking for an exit his whole life in this shuck place, and he can't start believing that there isn't one, not now. "Don't say that. You don't know for sure."

"I do," Thomas says, and Minho stills. He pulls back from Thomas, staring.

"What do you mean?"

"Yesterday, right before I fell asleep, Teresa said something."

Minho wants to roll his eyes, but he refrains. Why is Thomas being so cryptic? Honestly. "What'd she say?"

"'The Maze is a code, Tom,'" he recites plaintively. "She told me that the Maze is a code." Thomas looks at Minho. "What does that even mean?"

Minho swallows. He doesn't have a clue.

"Minho, what's going on?" Thomas asks miserably.

"I don't know, Thomas. I really don't know."

~||~

When Minho and Thomas get back from the Maze, Newt is there waiting for them.

"The girl," he starts. "She's awake."

"Really?" Thomas asks, eyes wide. And then he's gone, running to the Med-Jacks. Minho watches him go, bemused.

"What's his problem?" Newt asks Minho.

Minho shrugs, thinks about how Thomas can communicate telepathically with the girl he just ran off to, and shakes his head. He can't tell Newt. It's not his secret to share. "I don't know."

Newt gives him a look that says ' _I clearly don't believe you_ ,' but doesn't say anything.

"I'm gonna go catch up with him," says Minho, and starts walking over to the Med-Jacks.

Minho catches Thomas just outside the door, and he's obviously psyching himself up. Thomas reaches down to grab Minho's hand, and he brings it up to press a kiss to the back of it. He nods, saying, "Alright. Let's do this."

They walk in together, right into Teresa brandishing a candlestick at Clint. Clint is backed up into a corner, hands obviously raised in surrender. When she realizes there's more people, she points the candlestick at Minho and Thomas. As soon as she claps eyes on Thomas, however, she hesitates, her stance relaxing slightly. Her eyes flicker down to where Thomas and Minho's hands are still clasped.

Clint makes a break for it. He edges out of the house behind Minho and Thomas, running away as soon as he's clear. If Thomas weren't so focused on Teresa, he might have found it funny.

"Why don't I remember anything?" she asks, still pointing the candlestick threateningly at the boys. "But I know you."

"I know it's confusing," Thomas says, stepping closer. "My name is Thomas. This is Minho," he adds, gesturing beside him with his free hand. "And you're Teresa."

Teresa narrows her eyes at him, gaze flickering between the boys. She doesn't seem mad, just really confused.

"You've been talking to me while you were asleep," Thomas begins, then curses himself because that sounds super creepy. "I mean, like telepathically. Somehow."

 _Tom?_ Her tone is sharp in his head, but wondrous, like she's just realizing something for the first time.

Her voice clearly rings out but her lips don't move. Thomas looks back to Minho, but he's still looking at Teresa skeptically, none the wiser.

Thomas tries to send something back, like he's been doing the whole time she's been asleep.

 _Can you hear me?_ he asks. Teresa doesn't react or say anything back. "Yeah," he says instead. "That's me."

And then Teresa is launching herself at him. Thomas immediately goes rigidly into a fighting stance, and he notices Minho make an aborted gesture, but Teresa just gathers Thomas up in a huge hug.

And as much as it feels foreign - he's so used to the strong, broad build of Minho - it feels familiar. Comfortable. Before he knows what he's doing, he's closing his arms around her and hugging Teresa back.

It's a while before Minho coughs, and Teresa jumps back, startled. Thomas gives Minho a look, but Minho is pointedly not looking at him, and instead glaring at Teresa. "And who are you?" Minho says, crossing his arms.

"I'm Teresa," she says, and she sounds sure of herself. "I'm Thomas' sister."

"You're lying," Minho says immediately, and Thomas slaps his chest in reprimand.

"My _sister_? What?" Thomas exclaims. "How do you know?"

"You don't remember me," she says, and it's not a question. "I don't remember much either, but I know that you're my brother. And that I was sent here for a reason. I remember something about triggering the Ending."

"The Ending?"

"Yeah."

"Any idea what that's about?" Minho asks.

"Something called the Ending?" Teresa begins, completely deadpan. "Maybe I'm gonna end something."

Minho looks almost impressed with her sarcasm, but Thomas just rolls his eyes. "But what are you going to End?"

Teresa hesitates. "The Maze," she starts. "The Maze is Ending."

~||~

After everything is explained at a rushed Gathering, Minho and Thomas finally lay alone beneath the stars.

Everyone had taken the news in stride, the boys mostly just excited at the prospect of finally getting out of the Maze. The only one who had shown any trepidation was Alby, who hasn't really been himself ever since he got stung and been given the Serum.

Most of the boys trip over themselves to talk to Teresa, and it seems like she has a little bit too much fun with it. If nothing else, it’s highly amusing. Thomas pities the boy who gets on the wrong side of her, because he does not doubt Teresa's ability to forcefully object to anything she dislikes.

"Oh man," Thomas groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Everything is really screwed up."

Minho looks over at Thomas from his prone position on the grass, looking like he's trying to hold back a smile.

"What?" Thomas asks defensively.

"Thomas," Minho laughs, "things were screwed the moment we all woke up in the Box. Having a girl come up on Greenie Day saying klunk about how she's ending the Maze is on my list of top 5 amazing things that's happened here."

"Oh yeah?" Thomas grins. "And what's the first?"

"When Newt and I kissed for the first time," Minho says solemnly.

"Slinthead," Thomas pushes Minho away, but Minho keeps close, pulling Thomas back against him. They’re content to just lie in each other’s presence. Thomas has almost dozed off when Minho speaks again.

"When you told me you loved me," says Minho softly.

"Hmm?" Thomas looks at Minho, eyebrows drawn down in confusion.

"That's number one. Number two is us surviving the Maze together."

"Through the power of love?" asks Thomas with a smile.

"How else would we have lived?" Minho scoffs.

Thomas takes a moment to look up at the stars, enjoying the solid line of Minho beside him. A thought comes over him, quick and sudden, and Thomas smirks. "I bet I know what number three is," Thomas tells him.

"I'm listening."

Thomas rolls over onto his side, slinging a thigh in between Minho's. He reaches up to thumb along Minho's jaw, leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling back. "Bonfire night number twelve."

"You pulled that number straight out of your ass."

Thomas' hand wanders lower, tracing Minho's stomach and dipping his fingers underneath the elastic of his running shorts. "Are you telling me you don't remember?"

Minho licks his lips, bright eyes staring straight up at the sky like he doesn't want to let on how affected he is. Thomas knows better.

Minho breathes in and catches Thomas' gaze. His mouth curls into a smug grin. "Maybe you'll have to remind me."

"That can be arr-"

Thomas cuts himself off as he hears footsteps, and he rolls away from Minho, sitting up as he does. Minho makes an annoyed noise, surreptitiously adjusting himself in his shorts.

It's Teresa.

"So you guys are like, proper together, aren't you?" she asks, dropping down to sit cross legged in front of them.

Thomas and Minho share a glance.

"Yeah," Minho tells her as he kicks out his legs and rests back on his forearms. "Is that gonna be a problem?"

Thomas wants to nudge Minho for being belligerent, but Teresa just replies calmly.

"No, of course not. You'd think there would be more, with all the boys here."

Minho shrugs offhandedly. "Never thought about it before. We are who we are, and that's that."

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "What about Newt and Alby, though?"

Minho snorts. "What about them? Nothing's ever going to happen. If it was, it would have already."

"Wait," Teresa cuts in. She looks adorably confused, bright blue eyes peering up at them. "I thought they hated each other."

"No," Thomas begins. "Alby just hasn't been himself lately. They usually don't leave each other's side."

"Oh." Teresa still looks confused, but she seems to let it go in favour of pulling out thick blades of grass. She raises one in between her thumbs and blows against it, a shrill, honking noise filling the air.

Thomas starts to laugh. "How'd you do that?"

A thick, green blade of grass is handed to him, and Teresa shows him how to place it properly in between his fingers in order to make a sound. As soon as a faint trumpet tone is heard, Thomas raises his fists triumphantly.

"Yes!" he cries happily. "Minho, try it."

Teresa hands out a piece of grass for him to take, and for a moment he thinks Minho's going to refuse. But then a small, grudging smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he reluctantly takes the blade. It takes him all of one try to get a beautiful sound, and Thomas can't get the grin off of his face.

"You're a natural, babe," he tells Minho, and Minho just blows against the blade again, this time going for a lower pitch.

Chuck joins not too much later, and spends a good ten minutes trying to get his blade to work before giving up, content to lay his head on Thomas' lap and listen to the conversation around him.

And then all of a sudden Teresa is teaching most of the gathering boys how to do it too, with Minho's help. He's acting like he's above it all, but Thomas knows he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"You like her," Thomas says to him later that night, noises from the grass and the surrounding laughter far off into the distance. "You want to hate her, but you like her."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Thomas," Minho sniffs, making a big show of rolling over in their shared hammock so his back is to Thomas.

"Minho," Thomas nudges him. "Are you serious?"

"Shush, I'm sleeping," Minho says.

Thomas takes a moment to just shake his head at Minho's antics before getting over it. He snuggles against him, pulling him closer with his arm looped around Minho's waist.

It's a long while later, long enough that Thomas thinks Minho is asleep, when Minho mutters, "she's cool, I guess."

"What was that?" Thomas asks. He heard him, but he wants to see if he can get Minho to say it again.

"I didn't say anything," Minho insists predictably, and Thomas snorts in reply.

"Goodnight," Thomas says, pressing a kiss to the back of Minho's neck.

Minho twists around in order to get a proper kiss, shifting back into his previous position once he's satisfied. "Night, Thomas."

~||~

The next morning, they’re awoken by a harsh cry, a clamouring commotion not too far in the distance.

As Thomas opens his eyes, he notices that something is off - the light is different. His and Minho’s hammock faces East, so they get the early morning sun. This morning, there’s no sunlight streaming over the stone walls, no sunlight to gently brush over Minho's delicate features and cast devastating shadows from his eyelashes, a sight that Thomas has inexplicably become used to over the last several months.

He checks the watch he never takes off - it’s an hour past dawn. He slept in, and surprisingly, so did Minho. Usually, the sun would wake them up - Minho before Thomas, most days - and more often than not, they’d be up before the sun to pack their running kits before setting off. Thomas pads to the edge of their hammock space, looking out into the Glade and the flat, grey sky above. No blue sky. No sun.

“That can’t be good,” Thomas says. It’s an understatement. Without the sun, life in the Glade is pretty much over. Their food, animals, sustenance - it’ll all be gone.

Minho comes up beside him, then steps into the grass. He spins in a slow circle, taking it all in. “What the he–”

“Thomas!” Chuck exclaims, running to his side. “What’s happening?”

Thomas shakes his head, and he can’t seem to take his eyes off the sky. “I don’t know, Chuck.”

Logically, Thomas knows that the sun cannot disappear. However, after two years of the sun rising into a crystal blue sky and the sun setting below a watercolour of pinks and oranges and purples, he can’t help but be a little freaked out.

Something snags on the edge of his brain. _The Ending_. Teresa triggering the Ending. Maybe this is the first step for the godforsaken Maze to end.

“This is crazy. It looks like a ceiling,” Chuck says.

Minho makes a small contemplative noise. He catches Thomas’ eye. “He’s right. It’s a buggin’ ceiling.”

A rush of thoughts enter his brain all at once. The sun cannot be reasonably gone after two years of their constant routine. The only explanation here is if the sun was never there to begin with.

WICKED. World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department.

 _Experiment_.

“Has the sky been fake this entire time?” Thomas wonders, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. “It’s been... what? A simulation?”

He thinks of the Cliff, of the neverending blue sky, of the stars that went on forever the time he and Minho managed to survive overnight in the Maze. He thinks of the rocks they threw off the edge, falling into oblivion. He thinks of the Grievers, all rolling off the Cliff one by one, their bodies and grumbling sounds cutting off abruptly. If the sky is fake, then what else is fake?

He looks sharply at Minho. Minho is already looking back, face grim and determined. “Let’s go.”

“What?” Chuck says. “Go where?”

“The Maze, Chuckie. Gotta check something out.” Thomas pats Chuck on the shoulder before heading after Minho.

~||~

“This time, we do it all methodical like. Write it down. Map it. Just like we do with the walls in the Maze.”

Thomas pulls a rock chunk from their gathered pile. “We’ll start on the left. Work our way up, then over, then down. Continue until we find whatever it is we’re looking for.”

“Do it,” Minho says.

Rock after rock, they watch the chunks fall, sinking farther and farther down until they’re so small they can’t be seen anymore. Thomas’ hope dwindles. He looks over at Minho.

Minho’s jaw clenches as he marks down an _x_ where Thomas had last thrown the rock. “Keep going.”

Thomas does. It’s not until Thomas’ throws reach the center, about six feet away from the edge of the Cliff, that something happens. Thomas throws the rock, and instead of it continuing to fall below, it winks out of existence, as if it had fallen into soundless water. Thomas blinks, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine it.

“Do it again,” Minho says.

Thomas lines up the shot, straight down the middle of the Maze corridor, six feet out. The rock disappears.

Minho exhales heavily. “How did we miss this?”

Thomas shrugs, throwing a smaller piece of rock a little bit in front of where he threw the last two rocks. It falls, and falls, and falls. “The hole can’t be very big. If this is where the Grievers go, they must barely fit.”

“Throw a few more, let’s figure out the dimensions,” Minho suggests, jotting down what they know already.

Thomas throws rocks until they know the vague shape and location - six feet out, center of the corridor, about three feet square. Minho dutifully maps out the dimensions, doing his best to make a diagram.

“What is this? How can this be possible? We ruled out magic ages ago,” Minho says.

Thomas thinks for a minute before answering. “Technology,” Thomas says eventually. “It has to be. We know the Grievers are some jacked up pieces of machinery, the Beetle Blades too. Same thing with the sky turning grey. The whole atmosphere has been this... optical illusion.”

It’s not cold - the absence of the sun hasn’t done anything to diminish the perfect temperature of the Glade, but Thomas shudders anyways.

“Let‘s go back. Tell Newt and Alby what we found.”

~||~

Alby doesn’t take the news well.

“This could be a way out!” Newt says, trying to convince him this discovery is a good thing.

Alby just shakes his head, pushing past him, stalking past Minho and Thomas, but not without giving Thomas the stink eye.

Once he’s gone, Thomas turns back to Newt. “He’s not doing any better, huh?”

Newt’s mouth twists unhappily. He shakes his head. “It’s the Serum. He keeps on talking about something called The Flare. He’s given up hope of finding an exit. All of a sudden he doesn’t think the Glade is too bad.”

“What?” Minho rears back, eyes narrowed. “Two years and he just decided he’s done?”

“I don’t know,” Newt shrugs miserably. “The Flare - I think it’s something that happened _before_. You know, the period where we all remember absolutely nothing. Whatever it is, it’s worse than here.”

“Well, that slinthead’s gonna need to get over it,” Minho says. “No sun, no supplies, and a possible way out. Which one do you think the boys are gonna choose?”

It’s a good point, but Thomas can’t stop thinking about _before_. Thomas can barely remember what it felt like to be new in the Glade, with thirty some boys trying to figure out what was happening. It feels like a lifetime since he’s thought about the gaps in his memory. He’s been so involved with the Maze, solving it, finding a way out for him, for Minho, for everyone.

“The Flare,” Thomas murmurs, thinking hard. “World in catastrophe.”

Minho glances over at him, crosses his arms. “What are you thinking?”

There are thoughts swirling in his brain, but nothing coalesces into a firm theory. “Ask me in a few hours,” Thomas tells him, then turns and leaves the Homestead.

~||~

Thomas finds Teresa in his favourite corner of the forest, relaxing into the vines. He’d like to say it’s his intuition that leads him here, but really Teresa had told him where she was telepathically, that she needed to tell him something.

He sits down in front of her cross-legged. “What is it?”

She gazes at him, blue eyes alert, but laced with some trepidation. “You can’t freak out.”

“No more Greenies, no sun, no supplies. I’m way past freaking out.”

Teresa huffs out a laugh, a short breath of sound. “Fair enough.” She takes a deep gulp of air before pushing it back out heavily. “I remember little snippets and pieces. From while I was asleep.”

She looks up at Thomas from where she’s been fiddling with the vines in her lap, and Thomas nods at her, urging her on.

“I think...” she pauses. “I think that the Creators sending you with the rest of the boys at the very beginning was an accident. They didn’t mean for you to go so early. You were supposed to be one of the last. Just before me.”

Now Thomas knows why she didn’t want him to freak out. This is very freak out worthy information. It’s only through sheer willpower that he’s able to stay quiet and let Teresa finish.

“The two of us... we were supposed to trigger the Ending together. But now it’s just me.” She swallows heavily. “For some reason, I know that- that we–” she pauses again. “We did this to them. To all the boys. To ourselves. And now we have to help them get out.”

“We–” Thomas’ voice breaks, he has to start over. “We did this to them? No.” Thomas shakes his head. “No. That can’t be true.”

He thinks of Minho, of Newt, of Nick, of _George_. He thinks of all the boys that have died in the name of finding a way out of the Maze. Two years he’s been here. Two years he’s been running the Maze, Minho by his side. If what Teresa says is true, he could understand why sending him up here two years early was a mistake, because the Thomas that sent these boys into the Maze is not the same Thomas that sits here now. He’s not going to be some pawn that the Creators can wield. Over his dead body.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“We need to solve the Trials - and before you ask, I have no idea what that means. Just that we need to solve them. That we _can_ solve them.”

The Trials. Experiment. World in catastrophe. Something is niggling in his brain, trying to make sense of it all. He can’t help but feel that he’s missing something. 

There’s the sound of footsteps from behind them before Thomas can ask any more questions.

“What have you done?!” It’s Alby, followed by Newt and Minho. The angry tone is directed at Teresa, his lips drawn back into a snarl. “The sky, the supplies. Now this.”

Thomas immediately stands, putting himself between Alby and Teresa.

“What happened?” Thomas asks, directing the question at Minho. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” Alby echoes menacingly, ignoring that the question wasn’t for him. “I’ll tell you what’s _going on_. You two have been too busy plotting against us to look around! To notice what _time_ it is!”

Thomas hadn’t been aware of time passing at all. The grey sky hasn’t changed, the faint light is still the same brightness as it was this morning. He glances down at his watch. It’s past sundown. He looks past the boys into the Glade, at the stone walls boxing them in. At the _openings_ of the stone walls boxing them in. He catches Minho’s eye, silently pleading that it isn’t true.

“The Doors, Thomas,” Alby sneers. “The freakin’ Doors didn’t close!”

~||~

Thomas tries to sleep on the floor of the Homestead, cuddled up to Minho, with no luck. Newt and Alby are upstairs - Thomas assumes they took the bed. Teresa is on Thomas’ other side, sleeping on her side, facing away from them. Chuck had ended up in a different room, and Thomas desperately wants him close, just so he can watch over him. Chuck’s probably close to fifteen years old now, but Thomas still feels so protective over the kid.

Thomas truly doesn’t know if he can’t sleep because the Doors are still open or because of what Teresa told him earlier that day. Or maybe he’s just gotten too used to sleeping in a hammock.

His head is on Minho’s shoulder, Minho’s arm curled around his back. The only way he can tell that Minho is awake too is the constant gentle back and forth of his fingertips against the skin of Thomas’ arm. Thomas isn’t sure if Minho’s even consciously aware he’s doing it.

It’s mostly silent, save for the quiet breaths of the boys, sleepy snuffles and rustling blankets. The rhythmic rise and fall of Minho’s chest is almost enough to lull Thomas to sleep.

But then he hears it. Through the walls, a faint _click click click whhhhhhrrrrr click click click whhhhhhrrrrr_ can be heard. Thomas and Minho are the first ones on their feet, quickly followed by the rest of the Runners. Sleeping boys are shaken awake, the sounds steadily coming closer.

“Get Newt and Alby,” Minho whispers, barely audible.

Thomas tries to be as silent as possible as he makes his way up their shoddy excuse of a staircase - he’s always wanted to re-do it, but now it seems that there isn’t any time left. As much as he continually wished for a way out of the Glade, he always thought there would be time. He pushes open the door, half expecting the two boys to be asleep, but they startle into a sitting position as soon as the door makes a sound. They relax when they realize it’s just Thomas.

“The Grievers. They’re here,” Thomas says.

Newt and Alby are just getting out of the bed when there’s a crash from downstairs, then shouting.

 _Minho_ , Thomas thinks immediately, racing down the steps three at a time. He’s expecting a Griever, dead bodies, blood everywhere. What he sees is something else entirely.

It’s. No. It couldn’t be.

 _Jared_.

Minho is pale as a ghost, eyes wide and terrified. “Jared?” he breathes.

It’s really him. In the same old running clothes they used to wear when they went into the Maze. God, Thomas hasn’t seen him in _years_.

Jared had recovered from being stung once he was given the Serum. His first day back in the Maze after being stung, him and his partner had never returned.

Thomas remembers carrying Aaron’s lifeless body out of the maze. Jared’s body had never been found.

How could this be _possible_?

“Where–” Thomas’ breath catches. “Where have you been?”

Jared looks crazed, eyes bloodshot and lips curled. He disregards Thomas’ question, and it doesn’t seem that he even heard it. He clocks Teresa immediately. “I’ve seen you before,” he accuses, pointing a finger in her direction. All of a sudden, he’s in front of her, close enough to grab her arm and yank her closer. Thomas immediately shoves his way to Teresa, trying to get between her and Jared. “I’ve been stung. Had the Serum. I saw you.” He looks towards Thomas, seeming as if he wants to tell him something. Jared reluctantly looks back to Teresa, releasing her hard enough that she stumbles back a few steps. Thomas steps in front of her.

“The Grievers are going to keep coming. One of you each night until you’re all dead.” He turns around abruptly, starting to pry the wood planks off the window.

Most of the boys are standing, watching, and Thomas can tell they’re confused as to what to do. Most of them have no idea who Jared is. He’d be surprised if Alby even remembered him.

“Jared, stop!” Minho shouts, trying to get Jared off the window. Jared pays him no attention - the first board is off and he’s already on to the next. His hands are bloody and raw, but seems to pay them no mind. “Oh, for crying out loud,” Minho says to the boy standing a few feet away. “Help me!”

But it’s too late. The window is uncovered between one blink and the next, and the glass comes showering inwards as a Griever pushes its bulbous, oozing body through the newly empty space.

Minho is knocked to the ground by a wayward mechanical limb, but Jared manages to get out of the way before the Griever plops down into the room. Thomas registers that the boys are screaming around him, fleeing into the other room and down the hallway. Newt, Alby, and Teresa all hold their ground. Jared remains slightly in front of the Griever as if it’s a trusted pet.

Minho is too close to the Griever. It’s all Thomas can think - _Minho, Griever, too close_ , on a loop.

“One a night, until you’re all dead.” Jared hisses. It’s a threat. A promise. “Dead like me! It’s better than what’s out there!” With no warning, he jumps into the Griever’s fleshy body, the Griever’s mechanical limbs hugging him closer into the oozing skin. The Griever squeezes itself back through the open window frame and disappears from sight. Before Thomas can even comprehend what’s happening, Minho is up and out of the window behind them.

Thomas runs to the edge of the window, but he’s not quick enough to snag Minho’s clothing and pull him back in. The Grievers _click click click_ their way into the Maze, arms raised as if in victory of their capture.

Thomas sees Minho right behind the line of Grievers, running full speed through the Doors after them, into the Maze.

“Minho!” Thomas screams, but he’s already passed the threshold. “Oh, no you don’t, you dumb shank,” Thomas mutters to himself harshly. He dives through the window before Newt or Alby or Teresa can grab him, and he’s off like a shot.

Thomas doesn’t know how long he’s been running for when Minho hurtles into him, obviously on a path back to the Glade. They tumble down to the cold stone floor together, skidding until Thomas hits a wall and slows their momentum. As soon as Thomas has his bearings, he’s shoving at Minho.

“What the shuck was that, slinthead?”

“I just...” Minho pants, slowly making his way to his feet. “I wanted to be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“The Griever Hole. That’s where they went.”

“You couldn’t have spared a second to say, ‘ _hey Thomas, just trust me, don’t worry, I’ll be back in a minute’_?”

“That would have taken more than a second to say,” Minho says, holding out his hand to help Thomas get up.

“You absolute shuck-face,” Thomas says, but he takes the proffered hand.

Minho takes Thomas’ face in his hands, thumbs caressing the line of his cheekbones. “I’m sorry. Next time I run headfirst into the Maze to check a crazy theory, I’ll tell you first. Happy?”

Thomas’ eyes narrow, but he’ll take what he can get. “I suppose.”

Minho leans in, kissing him slowly. The last bits of tension seeps out of Thomas at the soft press of lips. Minho’s okay. Thomas is okay. Everyone else is okay. Tonight could have gone a lot worse.

They start walking back to the Glade. No point in running if the doors won’t close and the Grievers are back in their hole.

“You know, that’s twice now you’ve broken our Number One Rule,” Minho says lightheartedly, “Be careful, or I might start thinkin’ you have a crush on me or something.”

Thomas scowls over at Minho. “I hate you.”

Minho grins, taking Thomas’ hand and lacing their fingers together. “I love you, too.”

~||~

By the time they get back, it’s early morning. Despite everything in the Glade being messed up, work continues as normal. Thomas and Minho settle in for breakfast

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Minho says, pushing a piece of potato around on his plate with a fork.

“God forbid,” Thomas deadpans.

“Slinthead,” Minho says without heat. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what Teresa said to you about the Maze being a code.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, his tone inviting Minho to elaborate.

“If it’s meant to be a code, then the only thing that really makes sense are the maps. The maps must tell us something that we’re not seeing.”

Thomas appreciates the theory, but he can’t summon up anything except bone-tired weariness. “We’ve studied the maps, Minho. What would we be missing?”

Minho puts his fork down. “We need an outside opinion,” he decides. “Where’s Teresa?”

“How would I know?”

“Can’t you talk to her in your head?” Minho asks, like Thomas is the dumb one.

“More like _she_ talks to _me_ ,” Thomas says.

Surprise crosses over Minho’s features. “Seriously? You can’t talk back to her?”

Thomas shakes his head. “Nope. I tried while she was asleep, and every day since she’s been awake. Nothing.”

“Try again,” Minho suggests.

“What, right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” Minho confirms. “I want to talk to her.”

Thomas gives him a flat look. “I’m not your personal cell phone.”

“Oh, come off it, Thomas,” Minho says. “Please?”

Thomas sighs, rolling his eyes, but does deign to sit back in his seat and think to Teresa, _can you hear me_?

No response.

 _Can... you... hear... me_? he thinks again, pushing it towards her in a way he couldn’t explain to anyone. _Teresa?_

_Tom! I hear you!_

He makes a noise at the sudden response.

“You got it?” Minho asks.

Thomas nods, excited at this new development.

 _Where are you_? he asks Teresa. _Minho has a question_.

 _In the garden with Zart_ , Teresa responds. _Meet you in the forest?_

_See you there._

“Where is she?”

“She’s gonna meet us in the forest,” Thomas says. “Come on.”

They leave their breakfast plates in the sink and make their way to the forest. Teresa didn’t tell Thomas where exactly they would be meeting, but he thinks he can make an educated guess.

She’s exactly where Thomas thought she’d be, leaning in the corner of Thomas’ favourite spot, tracing the leaves of the ivy that climb up the stone walls.

She looks up as she hears them approach, smirking at Minho. “You called?”

“I did,” Minho says, obviously quite pleased with himself. Thomas rolls his eyes.

“What’s the question?” Teresa asks.

“While you were asleep, you told Thomas that the Maze was a code,” Minho says. “Can you explain that at all?”

The corner of Teresa’s mouth turns down, brow furrowing. She shakes her head slightly. “During that time, it felt like my brain was being sucked out. All of my memories, I could feel as if they were draining away. I knew that the Maze was a code, that I had to remember. So I sent it to you,” she says, looking up at Thomas.

“I was thinking that if the Maze is a code, it must have something to do with the walls, how they change,” Minho says. “I just can’t see what it would be. I’m too close.”

“The word _code_ makes me think of letters,” Teresa reveals. “Maybe the Maze is spelling something out?”

“We’ve compared each section, day by day. If it spelled something out, we would have known by now, surely,” Thomas says.

Teresa makes a contemplative sound. “Have you compared each section’s day to each other? Like, day ten of section one to day ten of section two, and so on?”

Thomas and Minho share a glance. “I mean, yeah,” Minho says. “We’ve done everything.”

“I don’t think you’ve done it in the way I’m thinking. Get some wax paper and scissors. Meet me in the Map Room.” And then she’s gone.

Minho and Thomas look after her as she pushes past them. She turns so she’s walking backwards. “Now!” she says.

~||~

“No shuckin’ way,” Thomas breathes as Teresa holds up the eight stacked sheets of wax paper. In the center of the overlaid maps is a capital F. It’s clear as day.

She looks down at Thomas and Minho, excitement in her eyes. She bites her lip. “Could be a coincidence,” she says.

“Could be,” Minho says. “Shuck it, get Newt in here. He needs to see this.”

Newt sees the work they’ve done and immediately gathers a small group of boys to help them out.

“You two have been awake for over twenty-four hours,” Newt says, pointing at Minho and Thomas in turn. “We have it covered here. Go to sleep.”

There’s no arguing with Newt when he’s like this, so Thomas and Minho head out to their hammock. It’s the middle of the day now, but the light is dim enough that it won’t make sleeping a problem.

Thomas curls around Minho as they lay together in the hammock. “If the doors aren’t closing, do you want to go into the Maze overnight? See if anything new has opened up?”

Thomas waits a while for Minho’s answer, which is expected. He knows firsthand how terrifying the Maze is at night, experienced it right alongside Minho. It’s not exactly something he _wants_ to do again, but he knows this is the best time to see if anything has changed. It seems like everything is moving at three times speed, with all the discoveries being made. The Creators aren’t being very subtle in letting the Gladers know that the Maze is coming to an end. And quickly.

“Yeah,” Minho says finally. “We should go check it out.”

“Okay,” says Thomas softly.

Minho reaches back for Thomas’ hand and pulls it around his own waist so they’re properly spooning.

“Set your watch alarm for seven tonight,” Minho tells him. “We’ll need time to pack a bag before heading out.”

“You got it.”

~||~

The whole night is an exercise in chasing Grievers. Never once did Thomas think he would be running after the shuck things, but here he is, following them at a fast pace as they skitter throughout the Maze.

“It’s like they’re leading us on a wild goose chase,” Minho grunts as they turn a corner. The Griever they’ve been following for the past hour ducks out of view.

They put on a burst of speed to see if they can catch it, but by the time they round the next corner, it’s gone. They pause then, straightening up and catching their breath. “What are they doing? Why aren’t they trying to kill us?” wonders Thomas.

Minho reaches into their backpack and takes a swig of water, then holds the bottle out for Thomas to do the same. Once Thomas has drunk enough, Minho caps it off and puts it back into their shared bag. He holds it out for Thomas to take it - it’s his turn to carry it now. Thomas shoulders the bag so it’s secured on his back.

“Remember what Jared said?” Minho tells Thomas. “One a night. I bet once we’re back there’ll be someone else that was taken.”

Thomas shakes his head. “I don’t understand the whole Jared thing. He looked as if he hadn’t aged a day. He was wearing the same clothes as the day he disappeared.”

Minho looks at Thomas long and hard. “Yeah, I noticed that too.”

They start walking back to the Glade. No exit had opened up. The walls hadn’t moved. A thick layer of hopelessness washes over them.

“If the Maze has been a code this whole time, I don’t know what the shuck I’m going to do,” Thomas admits after a heavy silence. “I mean, I’m happy there finally might be a way out of here,” he reasons. “But the chance that what we’ve been doing for _two whole years_ might have been for nothing....” he breaks off with a shake of his head.

Minho gently bumps his shoulder against Thomas’, and Thomas can’t hold back a small, tired grin. “I’m right there with ya, babe,” Minho says, voice weary. “Let’s go home.”

~||~

Once again, the Glade is in full swing as Minho and Thomas get back around mid-morning.

Newt comes running. “Did you find anything?” he asks. His eyes are wide and excited, and Thomas realizes he really thought that they would find something important. Thomas had hoped too, but that hope was crushed hours ago.

“No,” Minho scowls. “The Maze is a big freakin’ joke.”

Thomas winces as he watches Newt’s face fall. “What?” Newt says.

“Sorry,” Thomas says. “We got a little morbid on the way back.”

“The Grievers were playing with us, Newt,” Minho says. “The Creators want us to know there’s no way out. The walls haven’t moved. It’s all been a game for them, and now it’s time to end it.” He takes a deep breath in. “I need to go lay down or I’m gonna yell at somebody.”

Newt and Thomas watch Minho stalk across the Glade, throwing himself into his and Thomas’ hammock.

Thomas sighs. He turns back to Newt. “Did the Grievers come last night?”

Darkness passes over Newt’s face. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. They took Adam.”

Thomas closes his eyes. Adam was a Builder, and a good one at that. He’d helped board up the Homestead the first night the Doors hadn’t closed. He was a good person - he didn’t deserve the fate the Grievers had in store for him.

 _Tom!_ Teresa calls out in his mind. _Are you back yet? You need to come see this._

Thomas turns towards the Map Room. He still hasn’t told Newt about the mind link him and Teresa share, so he says, “how’s progress on the code doing?”

“I haven’t been down there yet today,” Newt says.

“Let’s go see what they’re up to,” Thomas suggests. Newt follows.

 _On the way_ , Thomas sends.

~||~

FLOAT

CATCH

BLEED

DEATH

STIFF

PUSH

That was it. Six words.

“How cheerful,” Newt observes dryly, thumbing through a low stack of wax paper.

Thomas can’t help but feel disappointed. He thought the code would be a concrete way of getting out of here.

“This is it? You’re sure this is the order?” Thomas asks.

She tells him that the Maze has been repeating itself. For months. For _years_. “After _PUSH_ , there’s a full week with no letters. Then it starts again with _FLOAT_. So we figured that’s the first word, and that’s the order.”

Thomas has to fight back a groan. If him and Minho had figured this out back when they first started mapping the wall changes, they could have escaped the Maze so much faster. He can’t believe they missed this.

Minho was right. He needs to be alone right now. He wants to scream.

Turning abruptly, Thomas walks straight out of the Map Room.

 _Tom?_ Teresa says. Her voice sounds impossibly small. _I thought this was a good thing_.

 _It is_ , Thomas reassures her. _I just... I can’t right now_.

Thomas spends the rest of the day in his favourite corner of the forest. Right now, he’s angry at the world, at the Creators. At WICKED. What’s the shuckin’ point of putting a bunch of boys into a Maze and urging them to solve it if it’s unsolvable? It makes no sense. If only they had more clues.

A thought comes to mind. A terrible thought that Thomas wishes he could unthink.

Jared had talked about the Serum, about how he saw things, saw Teresa. Alby wouldn’t shut up about something called the Flare. Other boys throughout the years had talked about how the Serum gave them flashbacks. It changed them into different people.

They needed clues. They needed _memories_. Thomas needed to get stung by a Griever.

Two years with no Griever sting was some kind of Runner miracle, and now he was going to do it on purpose? What a _terrible_ idea. But for some reason, Thomas knew this was the next step to figure out what to do. They needed more information, and Thomas was going to get it.

~||~

“It has Dave!” they hear from above.

The group of teenagers huddled in the living room watch in horror as the Griever, Dave stuck to its body, rolls into sight and then forces its way out of the Homestead door, racing back into the Maze.

Thomas jumps up and spares a second to turn to Minho and say, “I love you, trust me, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Thomas?” Minho says, confusion marring his face. “Thomas!”

 _Tom!_ Teresa shouts, and Thomas feels like a knife just dug into his skull.

Thomas can’t be persuaded. His mind is made up. He’s already gone, sprinting through the door after the Grievers.

He catches up to them in record time, jumping onto the one holding Dave, hoping the following Grievers will retaliate.

Three swarm Thomas all at once, mechanical arms descending at an alarming rate. He’s able to dodge the most lethal looking ones with well aimed kicks, but the attack only intensifies. All of a sudden, pain erupts across his entire body, and he screams. That had to have been the stingers. He thinks he can hear a scream echoing in the distance, but he could be imagining it. Somehow, he manages to get his feet under him and pushes away with all his might. He pops free from the Griever’s sticky flesh, hitting the ground hard.

Minho is there in an instant. He grips the sides of Thomas’ face, shaking him insistently. “You dumb shank! Why’d you do that?!” Hands are pulling at his clothes, trying to figure out where the stingers pierced the skin. Thomas would say something, if he thought he knew the answer.

Thomas can hear Newt’s voice somewhere above him. “Someone get the Med-jacks! He needs the Serum. You, go!”

Pain radiates from every pore of Thomas’ body. Oh, jeez, this was a bad idea. A terrible idea. He regrets everything.

Minho’s face swims into view. “I’m gonna pick you up, Thomas, get ready.”

Thomas moans a protest, weakly tries to push Minho’s hands away.

Minho pays him no mind. He lifts him from the ground with an arm around his back and one under his knees. Thomas screams into Minho’s chest.

With every step, Minho repeatedly whispers in gasping breaths, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” into Thomas’ hair.

He can feel consciousness slipping away _. Tell Minho_... Thomas tries to push the words to Teresa, not sure if they’re getting through. _Tell him it was on purpose_.

And then everything goes black.

~||~

It’s dark. It’s cold.

Thomas’ throat hurts. Has he been screaming?

There’s a tornado in the distance, raging and ferocious. He feels a calm sense of curiousness towards it, and steps closer. And closer. Until all he can see is the white, whipping air.

He steps into it, the pain consuming him.

~||~

“Thomas,” a voice says, close but also very distant. “Thomas, wake up.”

Thomas doesn’t want to. Memories have flooded back into his brain, slowly seeping out like a sieve. He did terrible things. What he has to tell the boys is unthinkable.

“Thomas, please,” he hears again, the voice thick and watery. This time, he can tell that the voice belongs to Chuck.

“Shhh,” Thomas murmurs.

“Thomas!” Chuck all but shouts. “You’re awake! GUYS! Thomas is awake!”

“Chuck,” Thomas coughs. “Shut up, please.”

He feels a warm hand on his arm. A snuffle. “I’m just so happy you’re alive,” Chuck says.

Thomas blows out a breath, his chest aching. Despite everything he saw while he was under, he says, “me too, Chuck.” He pauses, cracking an eye open. “How long was I out?”

Chuck swallows. “Three days.”

“The Grievers come?”

Chuck nods solemnly. “They took Zart, Ben, and Spencer.”

Thomas takes a moment to process that. Then, he says, “Chuck, I need you to go find Newt. Tell him to start a Gathering.”

“Do you remember something?”

“I remember a lot, but I don’t know for how long,” Thomas tells him. “Please, now.”

Chuck leaves, barely missing Minho who hurtles through the open doorway.

“Minho,” Thomas says, face crumpling. Tears prick at his eyes. God, the things he remembers about Minho.

“Thomas,” Minho breathes, rushing to his side. He takes the seat that Chuck just vacated, grasping Thomas’ hand between the both of his, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I know why you did it, but god, please never do that to me again,” he pleads.

Thomas shakes off the hold Minho has on him, uses the free hand to cup Minho’s jaw, fingers tight on the back of his neck, thumb resting on his cheekbone. He pulls Minho closer, into a deep kiss he can feel down to his toes. Moving back slightly, lips just a breath apart, he says, “I love you so shuckin’ much,” and kisses him again.

~||~

Thomas sits in a chair facing the other Keepers. His own chair as Co-Keeper of the Runners sits empty, as does Zart’s.

“C’mon, Tommy, tell us what you remember,” Newt urges.

“It’s not pretty,” Thomas says, but he does as asked.

He tells them about how the Maze is basically one giant experiment, about the Variables, and how the boys are needed for something much bigger outside of all this. He talks briefly about the Trials. He explains that the Creators took them from their homes, trained them, and sent them into the Maze to see who was the best of the best. He tells them that their names aren’t their names, just nicknames given to them by the Creators.

He takes a deep breath, in and out.

“I wasn’t meant to come up in the Box in the beginning with all of you. I was supposed to be second to last, come up a day before Teresa. We were meant to trigger the Ending together.” Thomas swallows.

“So, what? The Creators accidentally sent you up two years early?” Frypan asks.

Thomas’ mouth twists. “Not exactly.” He looks straight at Minho. “I fell in love. I was going to have to watch for two years throughout the whole thing until it was my turn to be sent up in the Box. I guess I didn’t want to do that. I performed the memory wipe procedure on myself, then shoved my way into the Box with all of you just before it locked. By the time we were all awake and on our way to the Glade, there was no possible way for the Creators to fix what I had done. They would have had to restart the entire experiment, which was impossible.”

Minho looks back at Thomas, an indescribable emotion playing over his face.

Thomas takes another breath, looks away, and continues.

“The Maze is unsolvable. The code is the way out.” He laughs bitterly. “I should know. Apparently, I made it.”

There’s an uneasy silence.

“What d’ya mean, Tommy?” Newt asks.

“Teresa and I. We’re siblings. Twins. The procedure works better on identical twins, but by the time they found us, they were desperate. So they used us.” His gaze flicks to Minho, who’s eyes widen in recognition, but confusion emanates from the other Keepers.

“Procedure?” Winston echoes. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re telepathic,” Thomas finally admits. “We can talk to each other in our minds.”

A hush falls over the room.

“Have you been talking to her for two years?” Alby demands.

“No!” Thomas says. “No, it didn’t start until she showed up, while she was still asleep.”

He looks at each of the Keepers in turn, some blank-faced, some confused, some interested. Minho is last. He gives Thomas a small grin, nodding for him to continue. Thomas smiles back, instantly comforted.

“So, the Creators used us. We were smart, and they made us telepathic, and apparently that’s what they needed. We put you all here. We put ourselves here.” Thomas takes a moment to gather his thoughts, scrubbing his face with his palms. “If you guys had all your memories, you’d probably want to kill us. But listen, they _forced_ us to help. I don’t know how or why, but they did. They put that telepathy thing into our brains and made us their perfect weapon. But no matter the reason, Teresa helped us figure out the code, and now we have to use it.”

“What do we have to do?” Minho asks.

“There’s a computer station in a place we’ve never looked before. Once we put in the code, it’ll shut down the Grievers and open a door for us to escape.”

“A place we’ve never looked before? Where’s that?” Alby asks.

Minho stands up, face grim but determined. “The Griever Hole.”

Thomas nods. “The Griever Hole.”

~||~

“No,” Alby says immediately. “No!”

“Alby, we’re finally getting out,” Newt tries to placate him.

“That’s the problem!” Alby yells, eyes crazed, spittle flying. He turns to Thomas. “For all we know, he’s lying. Maybe he was meant to be sent in the beginning all along, meant to gain our trust, just to kill us all! He’s the one who wanted to go into the Maze at the very beginning, George told me so. If he’s in league with the Creators, he’s never had any reason to fear the Grievers!”

That just makes Thomas angry. “Hey!” Thomas shouts, effectively shutting Alby up, as well as any other protests from the boys. “You’ve known me the _entire_ time you’ve been in the Glade. Tell me one, _one_ time I’ve ever given you a reason not to trust me, Alby. This is ridiculous. I’m one of you. I’ve been here for two shuckin’ years. The me who designed this place is not the same person who stands here right now, okay?” He takes a moment to breathe, taking the boys in. “You guys are my family. And there’s _finally_ a way out of here. It’s not going to be easy, and a lot of us are probably going to die. But we need to get out of here. The Grievers are only going to keep coming.”

“You don’t get it,” Alby begs, almost hysterical. “We can’t go back to where we came from. It’s awful - burned land, a terrible disease from the Flare. It’s horrible out there. Way, way worse than we have it here.”

“Alby, if we stay here, we’ll all die!” Minho exclaims. “It’s worse than that?”

“Yes,” Alby says immediately. “Better to die than go back.”

Minho and Newt stare at Alby as if he had grown three heads.

“You’ve been drinking too much of Newt’s crazy juice,” Minho says eventually.

“You guys are the crazy ones,” Alby insists. “If you follow Thomas’ idea, you’ll see.” With that, he walks out of the Homestead without looking back.

Newt looks after him, eyes sad.

Thomas returns to the plan. “If we can fight the Grievers off long enough for someone to punch in the code and shut them down, we’ll have passed the tests. We can face the Creators themselves.”

“We can’t fight off the Grievers, are you kidding me?” Winston says. Frypan makes an agreeable noise. “Even if somehow we don’t all die horrible deaths, they’ll sting us.”

Thomas shakes his head. “I don’t think they’ll sting us. That was a Variable for us while we lived here. I think anyone who was stung was originally meant to get memories of me, but the Creators had to change the formula once they realized they couldn’t bring me back. I think they thought you guys would try to kill me too quickly. I don’t know. Anyways, we might have one thing that could help us survive.”

“What’s that?” Newt asks.

“The Creators don’t want us all to die, it would defeat the whole purpose of their experiment. Plus, the Grievers are still programmed to take one of us a night. If someone sacrifices himself, it might give the rest of us a chance to escape. I think that’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Minho scoffs. “Okay, now _you’re_ talking crazy. Sacrifice? Thomas, seriously.”

“I am serious,” Thomas says. “And I think it’s obvious who it should be.”

“Oh yeah?” Newt asks sarcastically. “Who?”

Thomas folds his arms across his chest and pointedly doesn’t look at Minho. “Me.”

~||~

Silence.

“Absolutely not.” Minho. “For every smart thing you say you just _have_ to ruin it with something dumb. Goddamn shank.”

“Minho, listen to me,” Thomas says. He still can’t bring himself to look at him. Guilt gnaws at him incessantly. “It should be me. I’m part of the reason that everyone is here. It has to be me.”

“It doesn’t _have_ to be anyone,” Minho insists, voice hard and unforgiving. It sounds as if he’s about to say something else before Newt cuts him off.

“Tommy, cut that klunk out. I don’t want another buggin’ word out of you about you dying and all that stupid martyrdom. If we’re gonna do this, we’ll take our chances. _All_ of us. You hear me?”

Somewhere deep inside, Thomas feels overwhelming relief. Almost enough to drown out the guilt. Almost.

“I think we need to talk,” Newt says. “Without you here,” he directs to Thomas. “Give us a second?”

Thomas sneaks a glance at Minho. Minho’s not even looking at him. He has his arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes burning. He’s pissed.

Thomas sighs. “I’ll be in the forest.”

~||~

Thomas and Teresa sit in the forest together. She’s been silent ever since he told her the plan. Jump in the Griever Hole, type in the code, and escape. That is, if they survive.

“That’s such a bad plan,” Teresa repeats for the umpteenth time.

Thomas is so, so tired. “You got a better idea?”

Teresa sighs. “No,” she admits.

They both look up at the faint crunch of leaves. Minho stands there, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. Teresa slips away quietly.

 _Good luck_ , echoes in his mind.

Minho sits down next to Thomas, closer than Thomas thought he would considering that he’s pretty sure Minho is mad at him. It’s quiet for a long time, the only sound being the soft rustling of the trees above them and their shared breaths.

“You always seemed so familiar,” Minho starts. “Even in the very beginning. We didn’t talk that much, but–” he cuts himself off. “There was something about you.”

Another long silence. Thomas doesn’t dare interrupt whatever Minho is trying to get out.

“Whatever the Creators had you do, Thomas, you were just a kid. You still are just a kid. We all are.” He reaches over and takes Thomas’ hand. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame anyone except WICKED. _They’re_ the villains here, not you.”

“Minho–”

“We decided,” Minho cuts him off. “We’re going into the Maze tonight to do your plan.” A scathing look is sent in his direction. “And if I see you get too close to a Griever, I’ll kill you myself.”

A laugh is forced out of Thomas’ chest, but it dies quickly in the air. He turns his cheek so it’s pressed up against Minho’s shoulder. “I’m gonna miss this,” says Thomas. “We don’t know what’s going to be waiting for us out there. Alby’s not wrong. I don’t think the world is going to be very nice to us.” He pauses. “Shuck it, Minho. I’m so scared.”

Minho huffs out a laugh. “Do you remember what George used to say to the Greenies? And what Nick would say? What Alby said?”

Thomas presses his smile into the fabric covering Minho’s shoulder. “If you ain’t scared, you ain’t human.”

Minho grips Thomas’ hand tighter. “And you’re as human as they come. We’ll have each other, right?”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, immeasurably grateful for Minho’s constant support. “We’ll have each other. Always.”

They sit there for a long time, holding hands, enjoying the fleeting peace for as long as it might last.

~||~

The next few hours are downright frantic. Food is packed, weapons are distributed and others are made from junk, but Thomas thinks they’ll do the trick.

Every single boy has decided to fight the Grievers and try to escape. It’s baffling that all these boys have put their trust into Thomas when Thomas still feels like an utter fraud. He pushes that to the back of his mind - he can’t think about that right now.

As everything is prepared, him and Teresa communicate silently about their part of the plan - getting to the computer station in the Griever Hole and punching in the code. It’s their responsibility, because if they somehow get separated, they’ll still be able to communicate. There’s not much to say, so the conversation is short and sweet.

Minho and a couple of other Runners make a short trip to the Griever Hole with rocks and some vines, just to double check and to prepare, while Thomas stays to direct action in the Glade with Newt.

Before Minho heads out, Thomas rests a hand on his upper arm. “If you die before we’ve even started fighting...”

Minho eases a palm onto the side of his face, thumbing the corner of his mouth. “I love you, trust me, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Thomas’ eyes close at the familiar words. A kiss is pressed to his temple, and then Minho’s gone.

Still, when Minho and the Runners return safe and sound an hour later, Thomas feels like he can breathe easier.

Dinner is a somber affair. Frypan cooks one last round of food in the Glade to get them through the night. No one speaks, either too busy thinking or too busy being scared. Thomas can’t blame them. His own fear has yet to dissipate.

At sundown, the boys gather around the West Door. They’re as prepared as they can be, bags filled to the brim with food, water, and other supplies, hands grasping anything and everything that could be used to defend themselves against the Grievers.

“You okay?” Thomas asks Teresa quietly.

“I’m fine,” she says, even though Thomas can tell she’s anything but. “Just want this to be over with.”

“Amen, sister,” Minho says, fiddling with his backpack.

Teresa turns to Minho, eyebrow raised. “Sister?”

Minho looks up, the side of his lips curled into a wicked grin. “Hey, we’re basically in-laws.”

Teresa rolls her eyes, Thomas barely stifling a snort. Minho swings the bag into his back, looking less scared than Thomas would have thought. He envies his confidence.

Once Newt has all the boys gathered, he explains the basic plan to them again. Thomas’ eyes wander over to Alby, who’s standing alone, not listening to the speech, feebly plucking at the string of his favourite bow. Thomas is worried for his friend, and he can’t help feeling that something might go wrong because of him. Thomas shoves the instinct away. He can’t be having any doubts.

“Shouldn’t there be a pep talk, or somethin’?” Minho asks Newt.

Newt waves a hand, as if giving Minho the stage. “Go ahead.”

Minho draws himself up to his full height, one hand on his hip, the other holding a wood club fastened with nasty looking barbed wire created by one of the Track-Hoes. Resting in a makeshift belt, a long, silver knife glints in the light. “Be careful,” he says, eyeing the boys one by one. The right side of his mouth quirks up. “Don’t die.”

“Inspiring,” Thomas says dryly, and Minho grins fully back at him.

Newt ends up doing a better pep talk, his “this is where we make our stand against the Creators!” punctuated with cheers and battle cries. And then they’re off.

~||~

They’re surrounded. Grievers close in around the sixty-one boys on all sides, pressing them closer together.

“Well,” Newt grumbles. “We knew we’d have to fight.”

Thomas silently agrees, but he knows that most, if not all of these boys, himself included, are banking on the hope that the Grievers will only take one of them.

“We shouldn’t have come,” Alby says. His voice sounds odd, but when Thomas looks over at him, his eyes are clear, glaring right down the corridor to the Griever Hole.

“It’s a little late for that, dude!” Minho says.

There’s a moment where no one does or says anything. They shift against one another, hands clasping and re-clasping at their weapons. None of the boys want to be the one to make the first move.

Alby breaks off from the pack. “Maybe if I...” He takes a few steps down the Maze corridor.

“Alby,” Newt says, voice low. “You get back here!”

Alby breaks off into a run, jumping headfirst into the trio of Grievers.

“Alby!” Newt screams, pushing boys out of the way to get to him. Minho grabs him bodily before he can get too far. “Let me go! ALBY!”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Minho whispers harshly. “He’s dead.”

Thomas watches as Alby is absorbed halfway into the bulbous body of the middle Griever, the other two descending on him like lions after a gazelle. The arms snip and claw at Alby’s body, tearing him limb from limb. Never once does he scream or shout.

Eventually, Newt stops struggling, panting hard. He stares blankly at the space where the Grievers seem to be _feeding_ on Alby. “I...” he swallows. “I can’t believe he just did that.”

Thomas glances over to where Newt is staring. There’s a bleak puddle of blood seeping slowly out from below the Grievers. He looks away, shuddering out a breath. He knew that people would die, but he still wasn’t prepared to see something like that. Would he have to watch that happen to Minho? To Teresa? To Chuck?

In a flurry of motion, the Grievers right themselves, seemingly done with Alby. Multiple arms sprout from their bodies, metal glinting menacingly and blades whirring. Looks like Alby’s sacrifice was for nothing.

Shuck it.

“We have to get into the Griever Hole!” Thomas shouts. “Shut the Grievers down!”

“I know!” Minho calls back. “Everyone! It’s now or never! The main goal is to get Thomas and Teresa to the Griever Hole! On three!”

Newt makes a noise of disgust. “How can you guys be so heartless? Alby just-“ he cuts himself off, unable to say it.

“What do you want us to do, Newt?” Minho asks, voice laced with faint desperation. “It’s not like we can stand around and have a funeral!”

Newt cries out in frustration, clenching his jaw against the strong rush of emotion. “Fine! Fine. On three.”

“One...”

There’s a collective breath in.

“Two...”

And out.

“Three!”

~||~

They’ve made it into the Griever Hole, but-

“It won’t let me put in the last word!” Teresa says.

Thomas is momentarily distracted from the Griever he’s fighting off. “What d’ya mean?”

“Thomas!” Chuck screams.

Thomas lifts his spear just in time to block the Griever’s arm from slicing him in half, shoving the limb away and stabbing the flesh before the Griever can retaliate. The thing shrieks, arms retracting as it shrinks back.

“All the words have come up on the screen before disappearing, but _PUSH_ doesn’t work!”

Thomas comes up behind Teresa, watching her as she types in the four letters. Nothing happens.

 _I don’t get it_ , Teresa says.

“What about that button?” Chuck says. He points to a spot underneath the computer terminal, a big red button labelled with three words: KILL THE MAZE.

 _PUSH_. Push!

“Chuck, you’re a-!” Thomas says, but is cut off by the Griever pushing itself back into motion, grabbing Thomas’ arms and back with two of its greasy mechanical limbs.

“Teresa!” he screams. “PUSH!”

She does, pushing the button, a massive _thunk_ echoing in the small room as it slots home.

The Griever immediately powers down, the claws hanging limp, releasing Thomas from its cutting grip. For a moment, the three of them just breathe.

“It... It worked,” Thomas says, slightly dumbfounded. “Holy crap.”

All of a sudden, there’s a _thump_ , someone dropping in from above through the hole.

“Minho!” Thomas cries, pulling him closer into a bone crushing embrace. Minho hugs him back just as hard. Thomas lets him go a second later. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What about everyone else?” Frantic hands pat down Minho’s arms and chest. He seems relatively fine, with minor scrapes and bruises. There is one gash in his forearm, blood sluggishly trickling down past his wrist.

Bloody fingertips grasp Thomas’ arm, his face grim. “Only about half of us,” Minho says. “It’s...” he blinks owlishly. “It’s a bloodbath up there.”

“Only half?” Thomas says, dismayed.

Newt drops down into the room, the other boys quickly following. There’s twenty-eight of them.

Thomas just barely stifles a hysterical laugh. Twenty-eight boys. The same number they started with.

God, what was the point?

“Door’s open,” Newt observes. His face is covered in grime, one pant leg completely soaked in yellow oily fluid from the Grievers. He still holds his original weapon, along with another one he must’ve acquired during the fight. “Let’s go.”

~||~

Twenty-eight teenagers, covered in blood, oil, grime, and dust, stand facing ten observers, their faces pale and gaunt. A thick pane of glass separates them. It must look like quite a picture.

“Who’re they?” one of the boys ask.

“The Creators,” Minho growls. “I’m gonna break your faces!” he yells, louder than Thomas has ever heard him.

The observers look down to their clipboards, jotting things down and talking to each other, mouths moving silently behind the glass.

A mechanical door to their left opens up, a professional looking woman coming through, a person with their hood pulled too low to see any distinguishing features shuffles in beside her.

 _She looks familiar_ , Thomas sends to Teresa.

 _I think we worked with her_ , Teresa responds.

The woman looks normal enough - black trousers, white button-up shirt, a blunt bob. Her expression gives nothing away.

“Welcome back,” she says as she comes to a full stop in front of the group of boys. “Over two years, and so few dead. Amazing.”

Thomas hates this woman. With every fibre of his being. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Her gaze lands on Thomas. “Everything has gone according to plan, Thomas,” she says. Her eyes narrow, finally showing some hint of emotion. “Disregarding the little stunt you pulled at the start.” She cuts a nasty glare to Minho. “Hope you boys had a _wonderful_ two years together.” She flicks some hair out of her face, features smoothing out. “However, it was quite interesting to see that you still fell in love despite the memory loss. It was a provocative Variable, for sure, having lovers in the Trial.” She pauses. “Either way, we expected a lot more of you to give up along the way.”

It was then that she reached up and pulled the hood off of her companion. It was Jared.

“What is this?” Frypan says, voice shaking. “Jared’s been dead for years.”

“Oh no, Mr. Freud,” the woman says. “Jared’s been alive for quite some time. He’s been a useful tool for us as the Maze has come to an end.”

Thomas looks in horror at Jared. He’s been alive this entire time? How is that even possible? The boy himself is blank-faced, staring at a point on the wall behind them. He looks like a robot.

“And now it’s time for the final test.”

“Test?” Minho says. “Lady, what are you–”

The glint of a dagger flickers from Jared’s side, uncovered from the folds of his clothes. There’s a shout to Thomas’ left side. With unexpected speed, Jared pulls back his arm, the dagger windmilling towards Thomas. Time seems to slow down, solely for the purpose of allowing Thomas to feel the terror crawling through him. He wills himself to move, to scream, to do _something_ , but he can’t.

Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, expecting the sharp pain of a stab wound. His eyes are forced back open at the sound of a clatter. He watches distantly as the dagger skitters across the room, knocked off course by a club wrapped in barbed wire.

Thomas can barely catch his breath, looking up at Minho. Minho’s not paying attention, hand already pulling the silver knife from his belt. The blade embeds itself into Jared’s chest with a dull thunk, the boy thrown off his feet from the sheer force of the throw. Blood pools underneath his body, streaming into the grout of the sterile white tiles. He doesn’t get back up.

Thomas and Minho look at each other, eyes wide, chests heaving. No one speaks, dumbfounded at the turn of events.

“Fascinating,” the woman says, and she genuinely sounds thrilled. “I need to-“ she starts, but she’s interrupted by shouts and commotion coming from the door. Thomas watches as her face visibly pales, eyes widening as she stumbles backwards. It doesn’t seem that she’s expecting the outburst.

All of a sudden, there’s the sound of gunshots, glass spraying everywhere. Men and women push through the shower of bullets, yelling words that the boys have no hope of understanding. Two of the newcomers break off from the pack, tackling the WICKED woman to the floor. There’s flashes, a gunshot, and a sickening squelching sound. She’s dead.

A man approaches them, Thomas and the other teenagers stepping back. “We don’t have time to explain,” the man says, clutching his rifle. “Just follow us and run like your life depends on it. Because it does.”

~||~

The boys marvel at the colour in the dormitory. Yellow walls, red blankets, purple curtains. It’s definitely a change from the monotonous grey, brown, and green landscape of the Glade.

Pizza is handed out, and Thomas almost cries at the real, bonafide greasiness, the _cheesiness_. Flavour bursts from the meal. Frypan’s been a good cook for the past two years, but he doesn’t have anything on this.

Beds are assigned. One woman comes over to Minho and Thomas sitting at a picnic style table, Newt and Chuck sitting across from them. She tells them that Thomas and Minho are to share the top bunk, Chuck on the bottom. Newt’s in another bunk. As she leaves, they all share an uneasy glance.

Minho and him hadn’t done anything in the company of these people for them to know that they were a couple. The only way they could know was if someone here told them - which was extremely unlikely, the boys didn’t talk about Thomas and Minho’s loved up state unless they absolutely had to - or somehow these people already knew.

“How’d she know you two are together?” Chuck asks quietly, voicing what they’re all feeling.

The elation at finding a way out of the Maze, at escaping the clutches of WICKED, it all slowly fades. A tight ball of fear, anger, and betrayal sinks lower in the pit of his stomach.

“The Trials,” Thomas says, barely audible. He doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “The Maze was only the first experiment in a list of many. The Creators wanted to weed out the boys who would give up.” Thomas keeps his eyes on his plate, trying not to act suspiciously. “I think this is just another experiment.”

“So you’re saying the rescue, the bus drive, the conversation with that woman about the Flare - it was all staged?” Newt asks.

Thomas nods, glancing up for the barest of seconds. “Yeah. And the next Trial has only just begun.”

~||~

There’s no way for the rest of the boys to be told about this newfound development without alerting the people who brought them here, so the four boys keep quiet. Thomas is able to let Teresa know, but that’s the best he can do. When she’s taken upstairs, completely cut off from the other boys, Thomas wants to protest.

 _Don’t_ , Teresa tells him. _They can’t know that we know. Don’t draw suspicion to yourself_.

 _But_ -

_I’ll be fine, Tom. Trust me._

He doesn’t have any choice _but_ to trust her, and he supposes that if anything were to happen overnight, Teresa would be able to let him know pretty easily.

Thomas climbs into his and Minho’s shared bunk. He cuddles up close to him, nuzzling into the side of Minho’s neck, holding him tight around the waist. Minho drops a kiss to Thomas’ forehead.

“I was gonna ask if you thought this place was safe, but I guess there’s no need for that anymore,” Minho says.

Thomas exhales heavily, wishing that they could just finally be _safe_ , be free. He’s sick of having the constant threat of death and destruction hanging over his head.

“We’ll be okay,” Thomas says. He tries his best to believe it.

“I know we will,” Minho tells him, fingers combing through the short hairs at the back of Thomas’ neck. “We’ll be together.”

 _We’ll be together_ , Thomas thinks as he drifts off to sleep. It’s enough reassurance for him to finally fall asleep, warm and without dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Don't hesitate to drop a kudos or a comment. 
> 
> I currently don't have any plans to continue this through the series, but I'm going to re-read The Scorch Trials soon, so we'll see if I'll be able to restrain myself, lmao.
> 
> Please feel free to drop by my tumblr @theyweretooyoung to yell about this pairing with me, I will definitely yell back.


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